Waters 

f  f  W.WJACOBS 


BY  W.  W.  JACOBS 

DEEP  WATERS 
THE  CASTAWAYS 
NIGHT  WATCHES 
SHIP'S  COMPANY 
SAILORS'  KNOTS 
SALTHAVEN 
SHORT  CRUISES 
CAPTAINS  ALL 
DIALSTONE  LANE 
ODD  CRAFT 
AT  SUNWICH  PORT 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


DEEP    WATERS 


UNIT.  Or  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OP  THE  LAMP  I  SAW  THE  DEAD  WHITE  FACE  OF  SAM 
BULLET'S  GHOST  MAKING  FACES  AT  ME. 


37(3* 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  1918,  BT  THB 
INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  CO. 


Published.  August.  1919 


TO 

MY  FRIEND 

ARTHUR  WAUGH 


2130397 


CONTENTS 

•MB 

SHAREHOLDERS 1 

PAYING  OFF 29 

MADE  TO  MEASURE  ........  51 

SAM'S  GHOST 75 

BEDRIDDEN       ..«....««••  98 

THE  CONVERT     ..    .     .     ......  112 

HUSBANDRY     ..........  140 

FAMILY  CARES 171 

THE  WINTER  OFFENSIVE 199 

THE  SUBSTITUTE 207 

STRIKING  HARD 234 

DIRTY  WORK       .     .     .    >    ..-    ....  262 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

In  the  light  of  the  lamp  I  saw  the  dead  white 
face  of  Sam  Bullet's  ghost  making  faces  at 
me Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"Found  it  over  there,  just  by  the  Mint,"  ses  the 

man,  pointing 12 

Right  afore  my  wife  and  the  party  next  door  she 

put  her  arm  round  my  waist  .      .      .      .      160 

She  learnt  the  news  in  the  first  half-hour  from 

her  landlady         190 


Shareholders 


Shareholders 

A  SAILORMAN —  said  the  night-watch- 
man, musingly  —  a  sailorman  is  like  a 
fish,  he  is  safest  when  'e  is  at  sea.  When  a 
fish  comes  ashore  it  is  in  for  trouble,  and  so 
is  a  sailorman.  One  poor  chap  I  knew  'ardly 
ever  came  ashore  without  getting  married;  and 
when  he  was  found  out  there  was  no  less  than 
six  wimmen  in  the  court  all  taking  away  'is 
character  at  once.  And  when  he  spoke  up 
about  Solomon  the  magistrate  pretty  near  bit 
'is  'ead  off. 

Then  look  at  the  trouble  they  get  in  with 
their  money  1  They  come  ashore  from  a  long 
trip,  smelling  of  it  a'most,  and  they  go  from 
port  to  port  like  a  lord.  Everybody  has  got 
their  eye  on  that  money — everybody  except 
the  sailorman,  that  is — and  afore  he  knows 
wot's  'appened,  and  who  'as  got  it,  he's  looking 

3 


Shareholders 

for  a  ship  agin.  When  he  ain't  robbed  of  'is 
money,  he  wastes  it;  and  when  'e  don't  do 
either,  he  loses  it. 

I  knew  one"  chap  who  hid  'is  money.  He'd 
been  away  ten  months,  and,  knowing  'ow  easy 
money  goes,  'e  made  up  sixteen  pounds  in  a 
nice  little  parcel  and  hid  it  where  nobody  could 
find  it.  That's  wot  he  said,  and  p'r'aps  'e  was 
right.  All  I  know  is,  he  never  found  it.  I  did 
the  same  thing  myself  once  with  a  couple  o' 
quid  I  ran  acrost  unexpected,  on'y,  unfortu- 
nately for  me,  I  hid  it  the  day  afore  my  missus 
started  'er  spring-cleaning. 

One  o'  the  worst  men  I  ever  knew  for  get- 
ting into  trouble  when  he  came  ashore  was  old 
Sam  Small.  If  he  couldn't  find  it  by  'imself, 
Ginger  Dick  and  Peter  Russet  would  help  'im 
look  for  it.  Generally  speaking  they  found  it 
without  straining  their  eyesight. 

I  remember  one  time  they  was  home,  arter 
being  away  pretty  near  a  year,  and  when  they 
was  paid  off  they  felt  like  walking  gold-mines. 
They  went  about  smiling  all  over  with  good- 

4 


Shareholders 

temper  and  'appiness,  and  for  the  first  three 
days  they  was  like  brothers.  That  didn't  last, 
of  course,  and  on  the  fourth  day  Sam  Small, 
arter  saying  wot  'e  would  do  to  Ginger  and 
Peter  if  it  wasn't  for  the  police,  went  off  by 
'imself. 

His  temper  passed  off  arter  a  time,  and  'e 
began  to  look  cheerful  agin.  It  was  a  lovely 
morning,  and,  having  nothing  to  do  and  plenty 
in  'is  pocket  to  do  it  with,  he  went  along  like  a 
schoolboy  with  a  'arf  holiday. 

He  went  as  far  as  Stratford  on  the  top  of  a 
tram  for  a  mouthful  o'  fresh  air,  and  came  back 
to  his  favourite  coffee-shop  with  a  fine  appetite 
for  dinner.  There  was  a  very  nice  gentlemanly 
chap  sitting  opposite  'im,  and  the  way  he  begged 
Sam's  pardon  for  splashing  gravy  over  'im 
made  Sam  take  a  liking  to  him  at  once.  Nicely 
dressed  he  was,  with  a  gold  pin  in  'is  tie,  and 
a  fine  gold  watch-chain  acrost  his  weskit;  and 
Sam  could  see  he  'ad  been  brought  up  well  by 
the  way  he  used  'is  knife  and  fork.  He  kept 
looking  at  Sam  in  a  thoughtful  kind  o'  way, 

5 


and  at  last  he  said  wot  a  beautiful  morning  it 
was,  and  wot  a  fine  day  it  must  be  in  the  coun- 
try. In  a  little  while  they  began  to  talk  like  a 
couple  of  old  friends,  and  he  told  Sam  all  about 
'is  father,  wot  was  a  clergyman  in  the  country, 
and  Sam  talked  about  a  father  of  his  as  was 
living  private  on  three  'undred  a  year. 

"Ah,  money's  a  useful  thing,"  ses  the  man. 

"It  ain't  everything,"  ses  Sam.  "It  won't 
give  you  'appiness.  I've  run  through  a  lot  in 
my  time,  so  I  ought  to  know." 

"I  expect  you've  got  a  bit  left,  though,"  ses 
the  man,  with  a  wink. 

Sam  laughed  and  smacked  'is  pocket.  "I've 
got  a  trifle  to  go  on  with,"  he  ses,  winking 
back.  "I  never  feel  comfortable  without  a 
pound  or  two  in  my  pocket." 

"You  look  as  though  you're  just  back  from 
a  vy'ge,"  ses  the  man,  looking  at  'im  very 
hard. 

"I  am,"  ses  Sam,  nodding.  "Just  back  arter 
ten  months,  and  I'm  going  to  spend  a  bit  o' 
money  afore  I  sign  on  agin,  I  can  tell  you." 

6 


Shareholders 

"That's  wot  it  was  given  to  us  for,"  ses  the 
man,  nodding  at  him. 

They  both  got  up  to  go  at  the  same  time  and 
walked  out  into  the  street  together,  and,  when 
Sam  asked  'im  whether  he  might  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  standing  'im  a  drink,  he  said  he  might. 
He  talked  about  the  different  kinds  of  drink 
as  they  walked  along  till  Sam,  wot  was  looking 
for  a  high-class  pub,  got  such  a  raging  thirst  on 
'im  he  hardly  knew  wot  to  ^do  with  'imself. 
He  passed  several  pubs,  and  walked  on  as  fast 
as  he  could  to  the  Three  Widders. 

"Do  you  want  to  go  in  there  partikler?" 
ses  the  man,  stopping  at  the  door. 

"No,"  ses  Sam,  staring. 

"  'Cos  I  know  a  place  where  they  sell  the 
best  glass  o'  port  wine  in  London,"  ses  the 
man. 

He  took  Sam  up  two  or  three  turnings,  and 
then  led  him  into  a  quiet  little  pub  in  a  back 
street.  There  was  a  cosy  little  saloon-bar  with 
nobody  in  it,  and,  arter  Sam  had  'ad  two  port 
wines  for  the  look  of  the  thing,  he  'ad  a  pint 

7 


Shareholders 

o'  six-ale  because  he  liked  it.  His  new  pal  had 
one  too,  and  he  'ad  just  taken  a  pull  at  it  and 
wiped  his  mouth,  when  'e  noticed  a  little  bill 
pinned  up  at  the  back  of  the  bar. 

"Lost,  between  —  the  Mint  and  —  Tower 
Stairs"  he  ses,  leaning  forward  and  reading 
very  slow,  "a  gold — locket — set  with — dia- 
monds. Whoever  will — return — the  same  to 
— Mr.  Smith — Orange  Villa — Barnet — will 
receive — thirty  pounds — reward." 

"  'Ow  much?"  ses  Sam,  starting. 

"Thirty  pounds,"  ses  the  man.  "Must  be  a 
good  locket.  Where'd  you  get  that?"  he  ses, 
turning  to  the  barmaid. 

"Gentleman  came  in  an  hour  ago,"  ses  the 
gal,  "and,  arter  he  had  'ad  two  or  three  drinks 
with  the  guv'nor,  he  asks  'im  to  stick  it  up. 
'Arf  crying  he  was — said 'it  'ad  belonged  to  his 
old  woman  wot  died." 

She  went  off  to  serve  a  customer  at  the  other 
end  of  the  bar  wot  was  making  little  dents  in 
it  with  his  pot,  and  the  man  came  back  and  sat 
down  by  Sam  agin,  and  began  to  talk  about 

8 


Shareholders 

horse-racing.  At  least,  he  tried  to,  but  Sam 
couldn't  talk  of  nothing  but  that  locket,  and 
wot  a  nice  steady  sailorman  could  do  with 
thirty  pounds. 

"Well,  p'r'aps  you'll  find  it,"  ses  the  man, 
chaffing-like.  '  'Ave  another  pint." 

Sam  had  one,  but  it  only  made  'im  more 
solemn,  and  he  got  in  quite  a  temper  as  'e 
spoke  about  casuals  loafing  about  on  Tower 
Hill  with  their  'ands  in  their  pockets,  and  tak- 
ing gold  lockets  out  of  the  mouths  of  hard- 
working sailormen. 

"It  mightn't  be  found  yet,"  ses  the  man, 
speaking  thoughtful-like.  "It's  wonderful  how 
long  a  thing'll  lay  sometimes.  Wot  about  go- 
ing and  'aving  a  look  for  it?" 

Sam  shook  his  'ead  at  fust,  but  arter  turning 
the  thing  over  in  his  mind,  and  'aving  another 
look  at  the  bill,  and  copying  down  the  name  and 
address  for  luck,  'e  said  p'r'aps  they  might  as 
well  walk  that  way  as  anywhere  else. 

"Something  seems  to  tell  me  we've  got  a 
chance,"  ses  the  man,  as  they  stepped  outside. 

9 


Shareholders 

"It's  a  funny  feeling  and  I  can't  explain  it, 
but  it  always  means  good  luck.  Last  time  I 
had  it  an  aunt  o'  mine  swallered  'er  false  teeth 
and  left  me  five  'undred  pounds." 

"There's  aunts  and  aunts,"  ses  Sam,  grunt- 
ing. "I  'ad  one  once,  but  if  she  had  swallerecl 
'er  teeth  she'd  ha'  been  round  to  me  to  help 
'er  buy  some  new  ones.  That's  the  sort  she 
was." 

"Mind!"  ses  the  man,  patting  'im  on  the 
shoulder,  "if  we  do  find  this,  I  don't  want  any 
of  it.  I've  got  all  I  want.  It's  all  for  you." 

They  went  on  like  a  couple  o'  brothers  arter 
that,  especially  Sam,  and  when  they  got  to  the 
Mint  they  walked  along  slow  down  Tower  Hill 
looking  for  the  locket.  It  was  awkward  work, 
because,  if  people  saw  them  looking  about, 
they'd  'ave  started  looking  too,  and  twice  Sam 
nearly  fell  over  owing  to  walking  like  a  man 
with  a  stiff  neck  and  squinting  down  both  sides 
of  his  nose  at  once.  When  they  got  as  far  as 
the  Stairs  they  came  back  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  and  they  'ad  turned  to  go  back  agin 

10 


Shareholders 

when    a    docker-looking   chap    stopped    Sam's 
friend  and  spoke  to  'im. 

"I've  got  no  change,  my  man,"  ses  Sam's 
pal,  pushing  past  him. 

"I  ain't  begging,  guv'nor,"  ses  the  chap, 
follering  'im  up.  "I'm  trying  to  sell  some- 
thing." 

"Wot  is  it?"  ses  the  other,  stopping. 

The  man  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  and 
then  he  put  his  'ead  near  them  and  whispered. 

"Eh?"  ses  Sam's  pal. 

"Something  I  picked  up,"  ses  the  man,  still 
a-whispering. 

Sam  got  a  pinch  on  the  arm  from  'is  pal  that 
nearly  made  him  scream,  then  they  both  stood 
still,  staring  at  the  docker. 

"Wot  is  it?"  ses  Sam,  at  last. 

The  docker  looked  over  his  shoulder  agin, 
and  then  'e  put  his  'and  in  his  trouser-pocket 
and  just  showed  'em  a  big,  fat  gold  locket  with 
diamonds  stuck  all  over  it.  Then  he  shoved  it 
back  in  'is  pocket,  while  Sam's  pal  was  giving 
'im  a  pinch  worse  than  wot  the  other  was. 

II 


Shareholders 

"It's  the  one,"  he  ses,  in  a  whisper.  "Let's 
'ave  another  look  at  it,"  he  ses  to  the  docker. 

The  man  fished  it  out  of  his  pocket  agin,  and 
held  on  to  it  tight  while  they  looked  at  it. 

"Where  did  you  find  it?"  ses  Sam. 

"Found  it  over  there,  just  by  the  Mint,"  ses 
the  man,  pointing. 

"Wot  d'ye  want  for  it?"  ses  Sam's  pal. 

"As  much  as  I  can  get,"  ses  the  man.  "I 
don't  quite  know  'ow  much  it's  worth,  that's 
the  worst  of  it.  Wot  d'ye  say  to  twenty 
pounds,  and  chance  it?" 

Sam  laughed — the  sort  of  laugh  a  pal  'ad 
once  give  him  a  black  eye  for. 

"Twenty  pounds!"  he  ses;  "twenty  pounds! 
'Ave  you  gorn  out  of  your  mind,  or  wot?  I'll 
give  you  a  couple  of  quid  for  it." 

"Well,  it's  all  right,  captin,"  ses  the  man, 
"there's  no  'arm  done.  I'll  try  somebody  else 
— or  p'r'aps  there'll  be  a  big  reward  for  it.  I 
don't  believe  it  was  bought  for  a  'undred 
pounds." 

He  was  just  sheering  off  when  Sam's  pal 
12 


'*•! 

^i-v  €^r;sfeircrnn|;> 


"FOUND  IT  OVER  THERE,  JUST  BY  THE  MINT,"  SES  THE  MAN, 
POINTING. 


Shareholders 

caught  'im  by  the  arm  and  asked  him  to  let 
'im  have  another  look  at  it.  Then  he  came 
back  to  Sam  and  led  'im  a  little  way  off,  whis- 
pering to  'im  that  it  was  the  chance  of  a  life- 
time. 

"And  if  you  prefer  to  keep  it  for  a  little 
while  and  then  sell  it,  instead  of  getting  the 
reward  for  it,  I  dare  say  it  would  be  worth  a 
hundred  pounds  to  you,"  'e  ses. 

"I  ain't  got  twenty  pounds,"  ses  Sam. 

"  'Ow  much  'ave  you  got?"  ses  his  pal. 

Sam  felt  in  'is  pockets,  and  the  docker  came 
up  and  stood  watching  while  he  counted  it. 
Altogether  it  was  nine  pounds  fourteen  shill- 
ings and  tuppence. 

"P'r'aps  you've  got  some  more  at  'ome,"  ses 
his  pal. 

"Not  a  farthing,"  ses  Sam,  which  was  true 
as  far  as  the  farthing  went. 

"Or  p'r'aps  you  could  borrer  some,"  ses 
his  pal,  in  a  soft,  kind  voice.  "I'd  lend  it 
to  you  with  pleasure,  on'y  I  haven't  got  it 
with  me." 

13 


Shareholders 

Sam  shook  his  'ead,  and  at  last,  arter  the 
docker  'ad  said  he  wouldn't  let  it  go  for  less 
than  twenty,  even  to  save  'is  life,  he  let  it  go 
for  the  nine  pounds  odd,  a  silver  watch-chain, 
two  cigars  wot  Sam  'ad  been  sitting  on  by  mis- 
take, and  a  sheath-knife. 

''Shove  it  in  your  pocket  and  don't  let  a  soul 
see  it,"  ses  the  man,  handing  over  the  locket. 
"I  might  as  well  give  it  away  a'most.  But  it 
can't  be  'elped." 

He  went  off  up  the  'ill  shaking  his  'ead,  and 
Sam's  pal,  arter  watching  him  for  a  few  sec- 
onds, said  good-bye  in  a  hurry  and  went  off 
arter  'im  to  tell  him  to  keep  'is  mouth  shut 
about  it. 

Sam  walked  back  to  his  lodgings  on  air,  as 
the  saying  is,  and  even  did  a  little  bit  of  a 
skirt-dance  to  a  pianner-organ  wot  was  playing. 
Peter  and  Ginger  was  out,  and  so  was  his  land- 
lady, a  respectable  woman  as  was  minding  the 
rest  of  'is  money  for  him,  and  when  he  asked 
'er  little  gal,  a  kid  of  eleven,  to  trust  'im  for 
some  tin  she  gave  'im  a  lecture  on  wasting  his 


Shareholders 

money  instead  wot  took  'is  breath  away — all 
but  a  word  or  two. 

He  got  some  of  'is  money  from  his  landlady 
at  eight  o'clock,  arter  listening  to  'er  for  'arf 
an  hourj  and  then  he  'ad  to  pick  it  up  off  of  the 
floor,  and  say  "Thank  you"  for  it. 

He  went  to  bed  afore  Ginger  and  Peter  came 
in,  but  'e  was  so  excited  he  couldn't  sleep,  and 
long  arter  they  was  in  bed  he  laid  there  and 
thought  of  all  the  different  ways  of  spending  a 
'undred  pounds.  He  kept  taking  the  locket 
from  under  'is  piller  and  feeling  it;  then  he 
felt  'e  must  'ave  another  look  at  it,  and  arter 
coughing  'ard  two  or  three  times  and  calling 
out  to  the  other  two  not  to  snore — to  see  if 
they  was  awake — he  got  out  o'  bed  and  lit  the 
candle.  Ginger  and  Peter  was  both  fast  asleep, 
with  their  eyes  screwed  up  and  their  mouths 
wide  open,  and  'e  sat  on  the  bed  and  looked  at 
the  locket  until  he  was  a'most  dazzled. 

'  'Ullo,  Sam !"  ses  a  voice.     "Wot  'ave  you 
got  there?" 

Sam  nearly  fell  off  the  bed  with  surprise  and 
15 


Shareholders 

temper.  Then  'e  hid  the  locket  in  his  'and  and 
blew  out  the  candle. 

"Who  gave  it  to  you?"  ses  Ginger. 

"You  get  off  to  sleep,  and  mind  your  own 
bisness,"  ses  Sam,  grinding  'is  teeth. 

He  got  back  into  bed  agin  and  laid  there 
listening  to  Ginger  waking  up  Peter.  Peter 
woke  up  disagreeable,  but  when  Ginger  told 
'im  that  Sam  'ad  stole  a  gold  locket  as  big  as 
a  saucer,  covered  with  diamonds,  he  altered  'is 
mind. 

"Let's  'ave  a  look  at  it,"  he  ses,  sitting  up. 

"Ginger's  dreaming,"  ses  Sam,  in  a  shaky 
voice.  "I  ain't  got  no  locket.  Wot  d'you  think 
I  want  a  locket  for?" 

Ginger  got  out  o'  bed  and  lit  the  candle 
agin.  "Come  on!"  he  ses,  "let's  'ave  a  look 
at  it.  I  wasn't  dreaming.  I've  been  awake  all 
the  time,  watching  you." 

Sam  shut  'is  eyes  and  turned  his  back  to 
them. 

"He's  gone  to  sleep,  pore  old  chap,"  ses 
Ginger.  "We'll  'ave  a  look  at  it  without  wak- 

16 


Shareholders 

ing  'im.  You  take  that  side,  Peter !  Mind  you 
don't  disturb  'im." 

He  put  his  'and  in  under  the  bed-clo'es  and 
felt  all  up  and  down  Sam's  back,  very  careful. 
Sam  stood  it  for  'arf  a  minute,  and  then  'e  sat 
up  in  bed  and  behaved  more  like  a  windmill 
than  a  man. 

"Hold  his  'ands,"  ses  Ginger. 

"Hold  'em  yourself,"  ses  Peter,  dabbing  'is 
nose  with  his  shirt-sleeve. 

"Well,  we're  going  to  see  it,"  ses  Ginger, 
"if  we  have  to  make  enough  noise  to  rouse  the 
'ouse.  Fust  of  all  we're  going  to  ask  you  per- 
lite;  then  we  shall  get  louder  and  louder. 
Show  us  the  locket  wot  you  stole,  Sam!" 

"Show  —  us  —  the  —  diamond  locket!"  ses 
Peter. 

"It's  my  turn,  Peter,"  ses  Ginger.  "One, 
two,  three.  SHOW — us — TH' " 

"Shut  up,"  ses  Sam,  trembling  all  over.  "I'll 
show  it  to  you  if  you  stop  your  noise." 

He  put  his  'and  under  his  piller,  but  afore 
he  showed  it  to  'em  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  made 

17 


Shareholders 

'em  a  little  speech.  He  said  'e  never  wanted  to 
see  their  faces  agin  as  long  as  he  lived,  and 
why  Ginger's  mother  'adn't  put  'im  in  a  pail  o' 
cold  water  when  'e  was  born  'e  couldn't  under- 
stand. He  said  'e  didn't  believe  that  even  a 
mother  could  love  a  baby  that  looked  like  a  cod- 
fish with  red  'air,  and  as  for  Peter  Russet,  'e 
believed  his  mother  died  of  fright. 

"That'll  do,"  ses  Ginger,  as  Sam  stopped  to 
get  'is  breath.  "Are  you  going  to  show  us  the 
locket,  or  'ave  we  got  to  shout  agin?" 

Sam  swallered  something  that  nearly  choked 
'im,  and  then  he  opened  his  'and  and  showed  it 
to  them.  Peter  told  'im  to  wave  it  so  as  they 
could  see  the  diamonds  flash,  and  then  Ginger 
waved  the  candle  to  see  'ow  they  looked  that 
way,  and  pretty  near  set  pore  Sam's  whiskers 
on  fire. 

They  didn't  leave  'im  alone  till  they  knew 
as  much  about  it  as  he  could  tell  'em,  and  they 
both  of  'em  told  'im  that  if  he  took  a  reward 
of  thirty  pounds  for  it,  instead  of  selling  it  for 
a  'undred,  he  was  a  bigger  fool  than  he  looked. 

18 


Shareholders 

"I  shall  turn  it  over  in  my  mind,"  ses  Sam, 
sucking  'is  teeth.  "When  I  want  your  advice 
I'll  ask  you  for  it." 

"We  wasn't  thinking  of  you,"  ses  Ginger; 
"we  was  thinking  of  ourselves." 

"You!"  ses  Sam,  with  a  bit  of  a  start. 
"Wot's  it  got  to  do  with  you?" 

"Our  share'll  be  bigger,  that's  all,"  ses 
Ginger. 

"Much  bigger,"  ses  Peter.  "I  couldn't  dream 
of  letting  it  go  at  thirty.  It's  chucking  money 
away.  Why,  we  might  get  (wo  'undred  for  it. 
Who  knows?" 

Sam  sat  on  the  edge  of  'is  bed  like  a  man  in 
a  dream,  then  'e  began  to  make  a  noise  like  a 
cat  with  a  fish-bone  in  its  throat,  and  then  'e 
tood  up  and  let  fly. 

"Don't  stop  'im,  Peter,"  ses  Ginger.  "Let 
'im  go  on;  it'll  do  him  good." 

"He's  forgot  all  about  that  penknife  you 
picked  up  and  went  shares  in,"  ses  Peter.  "I 
wouldn't  be  mean  for  twenty  lockets." 

"Nor  me  neither,"  ses  Ginger.  "But  we 
19 


Shareholders 

won't  let  'im  be  mean — for  'is  own  sake.    We'll 
'ave  our  rights." 

"Rights!"  ses  Sam.  "Rights!  You  didn't 
find  it." 

"We  always  go  shares  if  we  find  anything," 
ses  Ginger.  "Where's  your  memory,  Sam?" 

"But  I  didn't  find  it,"  ses  Sam. 

"No,  you  bought  it,"  ses  Peter,  "and  if  you 
don't  go  shares  we'll  split  on  you — see?  Then 
you  can't  sell  it  anyway,  and  perhaps  you  won't 
even  get  the  reward.  We  can  be  at  Orange 
Villa  as  soon  as  wot  you  can." 

"Sooner,"  ses  Ginger,  nodding.  "But  there's 
no  need  to  do  that.  If  'e  don't  go  shares  I'll 
slip  round  to  the  police-station  fust  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"You  know  the  way  there  all  right,"  ses  Sam, 
very  bitter. 

"And  we  don't  want  none  o'  your  back- 
answers,"  ses  Ginger.  "Are  you  going  shares 
or  not?" 

"Wot  about  the  money  I  paid  for  it?"  ses 
Sam,  "and  my  trouble?" 
20 


Shareholders 

Ginger  and  Peter  sat  down  on  the  bed  to 
talk  it  over,  and  at  last,  arter  calling  themselves 
a  lot  o'  bad  names  for  being  too  kind-'earted, 
they  offered  'im  five  pounds  each  for  their  share 
in  the  locket. 

"And  that  means  you've  got  your  share  for 
next  to  nothing,  Sam,"  ses  Ginger. 

"Some  people  wouldn't  'ave  given  you  any- 
thing," ses  Peter. 

Sam  gave  way  at  last,  and  then  'e  stood  by 
making  nasty  remarks  while  Ginger  wrote  out 
a  paper  for  them  all  to  sign,  because  he  said 
he  had  known  Sam  such  a  long  time. 

It  was  a'most  daylight  afore  they  got  to 
sleep,  and  the  fust  thing  Ginger  did  when  he 
woke  was  to  wake  Sam  up,  and  offer  to  shake 
'ands  with  him.  The  noise  woke  Peter  up, 
and,  as  Sam  wouldn't  shake  'ands  with  'im 
either,  they  both  patted  him  on  the  back  in- 
stead. 

They  made  him  take  'em  to  the  little  pub, 
arter  breakfast,  to  read  the  bill  about  the  re- 
ward. Sam  didn't  mind  going,  as  it  'appened, 

21 


Shareholders 

as  he  'oped  to  meet  'is  new  pal  there  and  tell 
'im  his  troubles,  but,  though  they  stayed  there 
some  time,  'e  didn't  turn  up.  He  wasn't  at  the 
coffee-shop  for  dinner,  neither. 

Peter  and  Ginger  was  in  'igh  spirits,  and, 
though  Sam  told  'em  plain  that  he  would  sooner 
walk  about  with  a  couple  of  real  pickpockets, 
they  wouldn't  leave  'im  an  inch. 

"Anybody  could  steal  it  off  of  you,  Sam," 
ses  Ginger,  patting  'im  on  the  weskit  to  make 
sure  the  locket  was  still  there.  "It's  a  good 
job  you've  got  us  to  look  arter  you." 

"We  must  buy  'im  a  money-belt  with  a  pocket 
in  it,"  ses  Peter. 

Ginger  nodded  at  'im.  "Yes,"  he  ses,  "that 
would  be  safer.  And  he'd  better  wear  it  next 
to  'is  skin,  with  everything  over  it.  I  should 
feel  more  comfortable  then." 

"And  wot  about  me  ?"  says  Sam,  turning  on 
'im. 

"Well,  we'll  take  it  in  turns,"  ses  Gin- 
ger. "You  one  day,  and  then  me,  and  then 
Peter." 

22 


Shareholders 

Sam  gave  way  at  last,  as  arter  all  he  could 
see  it  was  the  safest  thing  to  do,  but  he  'ad 
so  much  to  say  about  it  that  they  got  fair  sick 
of  the  sound  of  'is  voice.  They  'ad  to  go  'ome 
for  'im  to  put  the  belt  on;  and  then  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  arter  Sam  had  'ad  two 
or  three  pints,  they  had  to  go  'ome  agin,  'cos 
he  was  complaining  of  tight-lacing. 

Ginger  had  it  on  next  day  and  he  went  'ome 
five  times.  The  other  two  went  with  'im  in 
case  he  lost  'imself,  and  stood  there  making 
nasty  remarks  while  he  messed  'imself  up  with 
a  penn'orth  of  cold  cream.  It  was  a  cheap 
belt,  and  pore  Ginger  said  that,  when  they  'ad 
done  with  it,  it  would  come  in  handy  for  sand- 
paper. 

Peter  didn't  like  it  any  better  than  the  other 
two  did,  and  twice  they  'ad  to  speak  to  'im 
about  stopping  in  the  street  and  trying  to  make 
'imself  more  comfortable  by  wriggling.  Sam 
said  people  misunderstood  it. 

Arter  that  they  agreed  to  wear  it  outside 
their  shirt,  and  even  then  Ginger  said  it 

23 


Shareholders 

scratched  'im.  And  every  day  they  got  more 
and  more  worried  about  wot  was  the  best  thing 
to  do  with  the  locket,  and  whether  it  would  be 
safe  to  try  and  sell  it.  The  idea  o'  walking 
about  with  a  fortune  in  their  pockets  that  they 
couldn't  spend  a'most  drove  'em  crazy. 

"The  longer  we  keep  it,  the  safer  it'll  be," 
ses  Sam,  as  they  was  walking  down  Hounds- 
ditch  one  day. 

"We'll  sell  it  when  I'm  sixty,"  ses  Ginger, 
nasty-like. 

"Then  old  Sam  won't  be  'ere  to  have  'is 
share,"  ses  Peter. 

Sam  was  just  going  to  answer  'em  back,  when 
he  stopped  and  began  to  smile  instead.  Straight 
in  front  of  'im  was  the  gentleman  he  'ad  met 
in  the  coffee-shop,  coming  along  with  another 
man,  and  he  just  'ad  time  to  see  that  it  was 
the  docker  who  'ad  sold  him  the  locket,  when 
they  both  saw  'im.  They  turned  like  a  flash, 
and,  afore  Sam  could  get  'is  breath,  bolted  up 
a  little  alley  and  disappeared. 
24 


Shareholders 

"Wot's  the  row?"  ses  Ginger,  staring. 

Sam  didn't  answer  'im.  He  stood  there 
struck  all  of  a  heap. 

"Do  you  know  'em?"  ses  Peter. 

Sam  couldn't  answer  'im  for  a  time.  He 
was  doing  a  bit  of  'ard  thinking. 

"Chap  I  'ad  a  row  with  the  other  night," 
he  ses,  at  last. 

He  walked  on  very  thoughtful,  and  the  more 
'e  thought,  the  less  'e  liked  it.  He  was  so 
pale  that  Ginger  thought  'e  was  ill  and  advised 
'im  to  'ave  a  drop  o'  brandy.  Peter  recom- 
mended rum,  so  to  please  'em  he  'ad  both.  It 
brought  'is  colour  back,  but  not  'is  cheerful- 
ness. 

He  gave  'em  both  the  slip  next  morning; 
which  was  easy,  as  Ginger  was  wearing  the 
locket,  and,  arter  fust  'aving  a  long  ride  for 
nothing  owing  to  getting  in  the  wrong  train, 
he  got  to  Barnet. 

It  was  a  big  place;  big  enough  to  'ave  a 
dozen  Orange  Villas,  but  pore  Sam  couldn't 
find  one.  It  wasn't  for  want  of  trying  neither. 

25 


Shareholders 

He  asked  at  over  twenty  shops,  and  the  post- 
office,  and  even  went  to  the  police-station.  He 
must  ha'  walked  six  or  seven  miles  looking  for 
it,  and  at  last,  'arf  ready  to  drop,  'e  took  the 
train  back. 

He  'ad  some  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes 
with  a  pint  o'  stout  at  a  place  in  Bishopsgate, 
and  then  'e  started  to  walk  'ome.  The  only 
comfort  he  'ad  was  the  thought  of  the  ten 
pounds  Ginger  and  Peter  'ad  paid  'im;  and 
when  he  remembered  that  he  began  to  cheer 
up  and  even  smile.  By  the  time  he  got  'ome 
'e  was  beaming  all  over  'is  face. 

"Where've  you  been?"  ses  Ginger. 

"Enjoying  myself  by  myself,"   ses   Sam. 

"Please  yourself,"  ses  Peter,  very  severe, 
"but  where'd  you  ha'  been  if  we  'ad  sold  the 
locket  and  skipped,  eh?" 

"You  wouldn't  'ave  enjoyed  yourself  by 
yourself  then,"  ses  Ginger.  "Yes,  you  may 
laugh!" 

Sam  didn't  answer  'im,  but  he  sat  down  on 
'is  bed  and  'is  shoulders  shook  till  Ginger  lost 
26 


Shareholders 

his  temper  and  gave  him  a  couple  o'  thumps  on 
the  back  that  pretty  near  broke  it. 

"All  right,"  ses  Sam,  very  firm.  "Now  you 
'ave  done  for  yourselves.  I  'ad  a'most  made 
up  my  mind  to  go  shares;  now  you  sha'n't  'ave 
a  ha'penny." 

Ginger  laughed  then.  "Ho !"  he  ses,  "and 
'ow  are  you  going  to  prevent  it?" 

"We've  got  the  locket,  Sam,"  ses  Peter,  smil- 
ing and  shaking  his  'ead  at  'im. 

"And  we'll  mind  it  till  it's  sold,"  ses  Ginger. 

Sam  laughed  agin,  short  and  nasty.  Then 
he  undressed  'imself  very  slow  and  got  into  bed. 
At  twelve  o'clock,  just  as  Ginger  was  dropping 
off,  he  began  to  laugh  agin,  and  'e  only  stopped 
when  'e  heard  Ginger  getting  out  of  bed  to 
'im. 

He  stayed  in  bed  next  morning,  'cos  he  said 
'is  sides  was  aching,  but  'e  laughed  agin  as  they 
was  going  out,  and  when  they  came  back  he 
'ad  gorn. 

We  never  know  'ow  much  we>  like  anything 
till  we  lose  it.  A  week  arterwards,  as  Ginger 

27 


Shareholders 

was  being  'elped  out  of  a  pawnshop  by  Peter, 
he  said  'e  would  give  all  he  'adn't  got  for  the 
locket  to  be  near  enough  to  Sam  to  hear  'im 
laugh  agin. 


28 


Paying  Off 


Paying  Off 


MY  biggest  fault,  said  the  night-watchman, 
gloomily,  has  been  good-nature.  I've 
spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  trying  to  do  my 
fellow-creeturs  a  good  turn.  And  what  do"  I 
get  for  it?  If  all  the  people  I've  helped  was 
to  come  'ere  now  there  wouldn't  be  standing 
room  for  them  on  this  wharf.  'Arf  of  them 
would  be  pushed  overboard — and  a  good  place 
for  'em,  too. 

I've  been  like  it  all  my  life.  I  was  good- 
natured  enough  to  go  to  sea  as  a  boy  because 
a  skipper  took  a  fancy  to  me  and  wanted  my 
'elp,  and  when  I  got  older  I  was  good-natured 
enough  to  get  married.  All  my  life  I've  given 
'elp  and  advice  free,  and  only  a  day  or  two  ago 
one  of  'em  wot  I  'ad  given  it  to  came  round 
here  with  her  'usband  and  'er  two  brothers  and 


Paying  Off 

'er  mother  and  two  or  three  people  from  the 
same  street,  to  see  her  give  me  "wot  for." 

Another  fault  o'  mine  has  been  being  sharp. 
Most  people  make  mistakes,  and  they  can't  bear 
to  see  anybody  as  don't.  Over  and  over  agin 
I  have  showed  people  'ow  silly  they  'ave  been 
to  do  certain  things,  and  told  'em  wot  I  should 
ha'  done  in  their  place,  but  I  can't  remember 
one  that  ever  gave  me  a  "thank  you"  for  it. 

There  was  a  man  'ere  'arf  an  hour  ago  that 
reminded  me  of  both  of  these  faults.  He  came 
in  a-purpose  to  remind  me,  and  'e  brought  a 
couple  o'  grinning,  brass-faced  monkeys  with 
'im  to  see  'im  do  it.  I  was  sitting  on  that  bar- 
rel when  he  came,  and  arter  two  minutes  I  felt 
as  if  I  was  sitting  on  red-'ot  cinders.  He  pur- 
tended  he  'ad  come  in  for  the  sake  of  old  times 
and  to  ask  arter  my  'ealth,  and  all  the  time  he 
was  doing  'is  best  to  upset  me  to  amuse  them 
two  pore  objecks  'e  'ad  brought  with  'im. 

Capt'in  Mellun  is  his  name,  and  'e  was  al- 
ways a  foolish,  soft-'eaded  sort  o'  man,  and 
how  he  'as  kept  'is  job  I  can't  think.  He  used 

32 


Paying  Off 

to  trade  between  this  wharf  and  Bristol  on  a 
little  schooner  called  the  Firefly,  and  seeing  wot 
a  silly,  foolish  kind  o'  man  he  was,  I  took  a 
little  bit  o'  notice  of  'im.  Many  and  many  a 
time  when  'e  was  going  to  do  something  he'd 
ha'  been  sorry  for  arterwards  I  'ave  taken  'im 
round  to  the  Bear's  Head  and  stood  'im  pint 
arter  pint  until  he  began  to  see  reason  and  own 
up  that  I  was  in  the  right. 

His  crew  was  a'most  as  bad  as  wot  he  was, 
and  all  in  one  month  one  o'  the  'ands  gave  a 
man  ten  shillings  for  a  di'mond  ring  he  saw  'im 
pick  up,  wot  turned  out  to  be  worth  fourpence, 
and  another  one  gave  five  bob  for  a  meerschaum 
pipe  made  o'  chalk.  When  I  pointed  out  to  'em 
wot  fools  they  was  they  didn't  like  it,  and  a 
week  arterwards,  when  the  skipper  gave  a  man 
in  a  pub  'is  watch  and  chain  and  two  pounds  to 
hold,  to  show  'is  confidence  in  'im,  and  I  told 
'im  exactly  wot  I  thought  of  him,  'e  didn't 
like  it. 

"You're  too  sharp,  Bill,"  he  says,  sneering 
like.  "My  opinion  is  that  the  pore  man  was 

S3 


Paying  Off 

run  over.  He  told  me  'e  should  only  be  away 
five  minutes.  And  he  'ad  got  an  honest  face: 
nice  open  blue  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  done  you 
good  to  look  at." 

"You've  been  swindled,"  I  ses,  "and  you 
know  it.  If  I'd  been  done  like  that  I  should 
never  hold  up  my  'ead  agin.  Why,  a  child  o' 
five  would  know  better.  You  and  your  crew 
all  seem  to  be  tarred  with  the  same  brush. 
You  ain't  fit  to  be  trusted  out  alone." 

I  believe  'e  told  his  'ands  wot  I  said;  any- 
way, two  bits  o'  coke  missed  me  by  'arf  an 
inch  next  evening,  and  for  some  weeks  not  one 
of  'em  spoke  a  word  to  me.  When  they  see 
me  coming  they  just  used  to  stand  up  straight 
and  twist  their  nose. 

It  didn't  'urt  me,  o'  course.  I  took  no  no- 
tice of  'em.  Even  when  one  of  'em  fell  over 
the  broom  I  was  sweeping  with  I  took  no  notice 
of  'im.  I  just  went  on  with  my  work  as  if  'e 
wasn't  there. 

I  suppose  they  'ad  been  in  the  sulks  about  a 
month,  and  I  was  sitting  'ere  one  evening  get- 

34 


Paying  Off 

ting  my  breath  arter  a  couple  o'  hours'  'ard 
work,  when  one  of  'em,  George  Tebb  by  name, 
came  off  the  ship  and  nodded  to  me  as  he 
passed. 

"Evening,  Bill,"  he  ses. 

"Evening,"  I  ses,  rather  stiff. 

"I  wanted  a  word  with  you,  Bill,"  he  ses,  in 
a  low  voice.  "In  fact,  I  might  go  so  far  as 
to  say  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  favour." 

I  looked  at  him  so  'ard  that  he  coughed  and 
looked  away. 

"We  might  talk  about  it  over  a  'arf-pint," 
he  ses. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  ses.  "I  'ad  a  'arf-pint 
the  day  before  yesterday,  and  I'm  not  thirsty." 

He  stood  there  fidgeting  about  for  a  bit,  and 
then  he  puts  his  'and  on  my  shoulder. 

"Well,  come  to  the  end  of  the  jetty,"  he  ses. 
"I've  got  something  private  to  say." 

I  got  up  slow-like  and  followed  'im.  I 
wasn't  a  bit  curious.  Not  a  bit.  But  if  a  man 
asks  for  my  'elp  I  always  give  it. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  ses,  looking  round  careful, 
35 


Paying  Off 

"only  I  don't  want  the  other  chaps  to  hear  be- 
cause I  don't  want  to  be  laughed  at.  Last  week 
an  old  uncle  o'  mine  died  and  left  me  thirty 
pounds.  It's  just  a  week  ago,  and  I've  already 
got  through  five  of  'em,  and  besides  that  the 
number  of  chaps  that  want  to  borrow  ten  bob 
for  a  couple  o'  days  would  surprise  you." 

"I  ain't  so  easy  surprised,"  I  ses,  shaking  my 
'ead. 

"It  ain't  safe  with  me,"  he  ses;  "and  the 
favour  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  take  care  of  it 
for  me.  I  know  it'll  go  if  I  keep  it.  I've  got 
it  locked  up  in  this  box.  And  if  you  keep  the 
box  I'll  keep  the  key,  and  when  I  want  a  bit  I'll 
come  and  see  you  about  it." 

He  pulled  a  little  box  out  of  'is  pocket  and 
rattled  it  in  my  ear. 

"There's  five-and-twenty  golden  goblins  in 
there,"  he  ses.  "If  you  take  charge  of  'em 
they'll  be  all  right.  If  you  don't,  I'm  pretty 
certain  I  sha'n't  'ave  one  of  'em  in  a  week  or 
two's  time." 

At  fust  I  said  I  wouldn't  'ave  anything  to  do 
36 


Paying  Off 

with  it,  but  he  begged  so  'ard  that  I  began 
to  alter  my  mind. 

"You're  as  honest  as  daylight,  Bill,"  he  ses, 
very  earnest.  "I  don't  know  another  man  in 
the  world  I  could  trust  with  twenty-five  quid — 
especially  myself.  Now,  put  it  in  your  pocket 
and  look  arter  it  for  me.  One  of  the  quids  in 
it  is  for  you,  for  your  trouble." 

He  slipped  the  box  in  my  coat-pocket,  and 
then  he  said  'is  mind  was  so  relieved  that  'e 
felt  like  'arf  a  pint.  I  was  for  going  to  the 
Bear's  Head,  the  place  I  generally  go  to,  be- 
cause it  is  next  door  to  the  wharf,  so  to  speak, 

0 

but  George  wanted  me  to  try  the  beer  at  an- 
other place  he  knew  of. 

"The  wharf's  all  right,"  he  ses.  "There's 
one  or  two  'ands  on  the  ship,  and  they  won't  let 
anybody  run  away  with  it." 

From  wot  he  said  I  thought  the  pub  was  quite 
close,  but  instead  o'  that  I  should  think  we 
walked  pretty  nearly  a  mile  afore  we  got  there. 
Nice  snug  place  it  was,  and  the  beer  was  all 
right,  although,  as  I  told  George  Tebb,  it 


Paying  Off 

didn't  seem  to  me  any  better  than  the  stuff  at 
the  Bear's  Head. 

He  stood  me  two  'arf-pints  and  was  just  go- 
ing to  order  another,  when  'e  found  'e  'adn't 
got  any  money  left,  and  he  wouldn't  hear  of 
me  paying  for  it,  because  'e  said  it  was  his 
treat. 

"We'll  'ave  a  quid  out  o'  the  box,"  he  ses. 
"I  must  'ave  one  to  go  on  with,  anyway." 

I  shook  my  'ead  at  'im. 

"Only  one,"-  he  ses,  "and  that'll  last  me 
a  fortnight.  Besides,  I  want  to  give  you  the 
quid  I  promised  you." 

I  gave  way  at  last,  and  he  put  his  'and  in  'is 
trouser-pocket  for  the  key,  and  then  found  it 
wasn't  there. 

"I  must  ha'  left  it  in  my  chest,"  he  ses.  "I'll 
'op  back  and  get  it."  And  afore  I  could  pre- 
vent 'im  he  'ad  waved  his  'and  at  me  and 
gorn. 

My  fust  idea  was  to  go  arter  'im,  but  I  knew 
I  couldn't  catch  'im,  and  if  I  tried  to  meet  'im 
coming  back  I  should  most  likely  miss  'im 

38 


Paying  Off 

through  the  side  streets.  So  I  sat  there  with 
my  pipe  and  waited. 

I  suppose  I  'ad  been  sitting  down  waiting  for 
him  for  about  ten  minutes,  when  a  couple  o' 
sailormen  came  into  the  bar  and  began  to  make 
themselves  a  nuisance.  Big  fat  chaps  they  was, 
and  both  of  'em  more  than  'arf  sprung.  And 
arter  calling  for  a  pint  apiece  they  began  to  take 
a  little  notice  of  me. 

"Where  d'you  come  from?"  ses  one  of  'em. 

"  'Ome,"  I  ses,  very  quiet. 

"It's  a  good  place — 'ome,"  ses  the  chap, 
shaking  his  'ead.  "Can  you  sing  '  'Ome,  Sweet 
'Ome'  ?  You  seem  to  'ave  got  wot  I  might  call 
a  'singing  face.'  ' 

"Never  mind  about  my  face,"  I  ses,  very 
sharp.  "You  mind  wot  you're  doing  with  that 
beer.  You'll  'ave  it  over  in  a  minute." 

The  words  was  'ardly  out  of  my  mouth 
afore  'e  gave  a  lurch  and  spilt  his  pint  all  over 
me.  From  'ead  to  foot  I  was  dripping  with 
beer,  and  I  was  in  such  a  temper  I  wonder  I 
didn't  murder  'im;  but  afore  I  could  move  they 

39 


Paying  Off 

both  pulled  out  their  pocket-' ankerchers   and 
started  to  rub  me  down. 

"That'll  do,"  I  ses  at  last,  arter  they  'ad 
walked  round  me  'arf-a-dozen  times  and  patted 
me  all  over  to  see  if  I  was  dry.  "You  get  off 
while  you're  safe." 

"It  was  my  mistake,  mate,"  ses  the  chap  who 
'ad  spilt  the  beer. 

"You  get  outside,"  I  ses.  "Go  on,  both  of 
you,  afore  I  put  you  out." 

They  gave  one  look  at  me,  standing  there 
with  my  fists  clenched,  and  then  they  went  out 
like  lambs,  and  I  'eard  'em  trot  round  the 
corner  as  though  they  was  afraid  I  was  follow- 
ing. I  felt  a  little  bit  damp  and  chilly,  but 
beer  is  like  sea-water — you  don't  catch  cold 
through  it — and  I  sat  down  agin  to  wait  for 
George  Tebb. 

He  came  in  smiling  and  out  'o  breath  in 
about  ten  minutes'  time,  with  the  key  in  'is  'and, 
and  as  soon  as  I  told  'im  wot  had  'appened  to 
me  with  the  beer  he  turned  to  the  landlord  and 
ordered  me  six  o'  rum  'ot  at  once. 
40 


Paying  Off 

"Drink  that  up,"  he  ses,  'andlng  it  to  me; 
"but  fust  of  all  give  me  the  box,  so  as  I  can  pay 
for  it." 

I  put  my  'and  in  my  pocket.  Then  I  put  it 
in  the  other  one,  and  arter  that  I  stood  staring 
at  George  Tebb  and  shaking  all  over. 

"Wot's  the  matter?  Wot  are  you  looking 
like  that  for?"  he  ses. 

"It  must  ha'  been  them  two,"  I  ses,  choking. 
"While  they  was  purtending  to  dry  me  and  pat- 
ting me  all  over  they  must  'ave  taken  it  out  of 
my  pocket." 

"Wot  are  you  talking  about?"  ses  George, 
staring  at  me. 

"The  box  'as  gorn,"  I  ses,  putting  down  the 
'ot  rum  and  feeling  in  my  trouser-pocket.  "The 
box  'as  gorn,  and  them  two  must  'ave  taken  it." 

"Gorn!"  ses  George.  "Gorn!  My  box 
with  twenty-five  pounds  in,  wot  I  trusted  you 
with,  gorn?  Wot  are  you  talking  about?  It 
can't  be — it's  too  crool !" 

He  made  such  a  noise  that  the  landlord  wot 
was  waiting  for  'is  money,  asked  'im  wot  he 


Paying  Off 

meant  by  it,  and,  arter  he  'ad  explained,  I'm 
blest  if  the  landlord  didn't  advise  him  to  search 
me.  I  stood  still  and  let  George  go  through 
my  pockets,  and  then  I  told  'im  I  'ad  done  with 
'im  and  I  never  wanted  to  see  'im  agin  as  long 
as  I  lived. 

"I  dare  say,"  ses  George,  "I  dare  say.  But 
you'll  come  along  with  me  to  the  wharf  and  see 
the  skipper.  I'm  not  going  to  lose  five-and- 
twenty  quid  through  your  carelessness." 

I  marched  along  in  front  of  'im  with  my  'ead 
in  the  air,  and  when  he  spoke  to  me  I  didn't 
answer  him.  He  went  aboard  the  ship  when 
we  got  to  the  wharf,  and  a  minute  or  two  arter- 
wards  'e  came  to  the  side  and  said  the  skipper 
wanted  to  see  me. 

The  airs  the  skipper  gave  'imself  was  sick- 
ening. He  sat  down  there  in  'is  miserable  little 
rat-'ole  of  a  cabin  and  acted  as  if  'e  was  a  judge 
and  I  was  a  prisoner.  Most  of  the  'ands  'ad 
squeezed  in  there  too,  and  the  things  they  ad- 
vised George  to  do  to  me  was  remarkable. 

"Silence  1"  ses  the  skipper.  "Now,  watch- 
42 


Paying  Otf 

man,    tell    me    exactly    'ow    this    thing    'ap- 
pened." 

"I've  told  you  once,"  I  ses. 

"I  know,"  ses  the  skipper,  "but  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  again  to  see  if  you  contradict  your- 
self. I  can't  understand  'ow  such  a  clever  man. 
as  you  could  be  done  so  easy." 

I  thought  I  should  ha'  bust,  but  I  kept  my 
face  wonderful.  I  just  asked  'im  wot  the  men 
was  like  that  got  off  with  'is  watch  and  chain 
and  two  pounds,  in  case  they  might  be  the 
same. 

"That's  different,"  he  ses. 

"Oh!"  ses  I.     "  'Ow?" 

"I  lost  my  own  property,"  he  ses,  "but  you 
lost  George's,  and  'ow  a  man  like  you,  that's  so 
much  sharper  and  cleverer  than  other  people, 
could  be  had  so  easy,  I  can't  think.  Why,  a 
child  of  five  would  ha'  known  better." 

"A  baby  in  arms  would  ha'  known  better," 
ses  the  man  wot  'ad  bought  the  di'mond  ring. 
'  'Ow  could  you  'ave  been  so  silly,  Bill?     At 
your  time  o'  life,  too!" 

43 


Paying  Off 

"That's  neither  'ere  nor  there,"  ses  the  skip- 
per. "The  watchman  has  lost  twenty-five  quid 
belonging  to  one  o'  my  men.  The  question  is, 
wot  is  he  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Nothing,"  I  ses.  "I  didn't  ask  'im  to  let 
me  mind  the  box.  He  done  it  of  'is  own  free 
will.  It's  got  nothing  to  do  with  me." 

"Oh,  hasn't  it?"  ses  the  skipper,  drawing 
'imself  up.  "I  don't  want  to  be  too  'ard  on 
you,  but  at  the  same  time  I  can't  let  my  man 
suffer.  I'll  make  it  as  easy  as  I  can,  and  I  order 
you  to  pay  'im  five  shillings  a  week  till  the 
twenty-five  pounds  is  cleared  off." 

I  laughed;  I  couldn't  'elp  it.  I  just  Stood 
there  and  laughed  at  'im. 

"If  you  don't,"  ses  the  skipper,  "then  I  shall 
lay  the  facts  of  the  case  afore  the  guv'nor. 
Whether  he'll  object  to  you  being  in  a  pub  a 
mile  away,  taking  care  of  a  box  of  gold  while 
you  was  supposed  to  be  taking  care  of  the  wharf, 
is  his  bisness.  My  bisness  is  to  see  that  my 
man  'as  'is  rights." 

"  'Ear,  'ear!"  ses  the  crew. 
44 


Paying  Off 

"You  please  yourself,  watchman,"  ses  the 
skipper.  "You're  such  a  clever  man  that  no 
doubt  you  could  get  a  better  job  to-morrow. 
There  must  be  'caps  of  people  wanting  a  man 
like  you.  It's  for  you  to  decide.  That's  all  I've 
got  to  say — five  bob  a  week  till  pore  George 
'as  got  'is  money  back,  or  else  I  put  the  case 
afore  the  guv'nor.  Wot  did  you  say?" 

I  said  it  agin,  and,  as  'e  didn't  seem  to  under- 
stand, I  said  it  once  more. 

"Please  yourself,"  'e  ses,  when  I  'ad  finished. 
"You're  an  old  man,  and  five  bob  a  week  can't 
be  much  loss  to  you.  You've  got  nothing  to 
spend  it  on,  at  your  time  o'  life.  And  you've 
got  a  very  soft  job  'ere.  Wot?" 

I  didn't  answer  'im.  I  just  turned  round, 
and,  arter  giving  a  man  wot  stood  in  my  way  a 
punch  in  the  chest,  I  got  up  on  deck  and  on  to 
the  wharf,  and  said  my  little  say  all  alone  to 
myself,  behind  the  crane. 

I  paid  the  fust  five  bob  to  George  Tebb  the 
next  time  the  ship  was  up,  and  arter  biting  'em 
over  and  over  agin  and  then  ringing  'em  on  the 

45 


Paying  Off 

deck  'e  took  the  other  chaps  round  to  the  Bear's 
Head. 

"P'r'aps  it's  just  as  well  it's  'appened,"  he 
ses.  "Five  bob  a  week  for  nearly  two  years 
ain't  to  be  sneezed  at.  It's  slow,  but  it's  sure." 

I  thought  'e  was  joking  at  fust,  but  arter 
working  it  out  in  the  office  with  a  bit  o'  pencil 
and  paper  I  thought  I  should  ha'  gorn  crazy. 
And  when  I  complained  about  the  time  to 
George  'e  said  I  could  make  it  shorter  if  I  liked 
by  paying  ten  bob  a  week,  but  'e  thought  the 
steady  five  bob  a  week  was  best  for  both  of  us. 

I  got  to  'ate  the  sight  of  'im.  Every  week 
regular  as  clockwork  he  used  to  come  round 
to  me  with  his  'and  out,  and  then  go  and  treat 
'is  mates  to  beer  with  my  money.  If  the  ship 
came  up  in  the  day-time,  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening  he'd  be  at  the  wharf  gate  waiting  for 
me ;  and  if  it  came  up  at  night  she  was  no  sooner 
made  fast  than  'e  was  over  the  side  patting  my 
trouser-pocket  and  saying  wot  a  good  job  it  was 
for  both  of  us  that  I  was  in  steady  employment. 

Week  arter  week  and  month  arter  month  I 
46 


Paying  Off 

went  on  paying.  I  a'most  forgot  the  taste  o' 
beer,  and  if  I  could  manage  to  get  a  screw  o' 
baccy  a  week  I  thought  myself  lucky.  And  at 
last,  just  as  I  thought  I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,  the  end  came. 

I  'ad  just  given  George  'is  week's  money — 
and  'ow  I  got  it  together  that  week  I  don't  know 
— when  one  o'  the  chaps  came  up  and  said  the 
skipper  wanted  to  see  me  on  board  at  once. 

"Tell  'im  if  he  wants  to  see  me  I'm  to  be 
found  on  the  wharf,"  I  ses,  very  sharp. 

"He  wants  to  see  you  about  George's 
money,"  ses  the  chap.  "I  should  go  if  I  was 
you.  My  opinion  is  he  wants  to  do  you  a  good 
turn." 

I  'ung  fire  for  a  bit,  and  then,  arter  sweeping 
up  for  a  little  while  deliberate-like,  I  put  down 
my  broom  and  stepped  aboard  to  see  the  skip- 
per, wot  was  sitting  on  the  cabin  skylight  pur- 
tending  to  read  a  newspaper. 

He  put  it  down  when  'e  see  me,  and  George 
and  the  others,  wot  'ad  been  standing  in  a  little 
bunch  for'ard,  came  aft  and  stood  looking  on. 

47 


Paying  Off 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  about  this  money,  watch- 
man," ses  the  skipper,  putting  on  'is  beastly 
frills  agin.  UO'  course,  we  all  feel  that  to  a 
pore  man  like  you  it's  a  bit  of  a  strain,  and,  as 
George  ses,  arter  all  you  have  been  more  fool- 
ish than  wicked." 

"Much  more,"  ses  George. 

"I  find  that  you  'ave  now  paid  five  bob  a  week 
for  nineteen  weeks,"  ses  the  skipper,  "and 
George  'as  been  kind  enough  and  generous 
enough  to  let  you  off  the  rest.  There's  no  need 
for  you  to  look  bashful,  George ;  it's  a  credit  to 
you." 

I  could  'ardly  believe  my  ears.  George 
stood  there  grinning  like  a  stuck  fool,  and  two 
o'  the  chaps  was  on  their  best  behaviour  with 
their  'ands  over  their  mouths  and  their  eyes 
sticking  out. 

"That's  all,  watchman,"  ses  the  skipper; 
"and  I  'ope  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  you  not  to  neglect 
your  dooty  by  going  into  public-'ouses  and  tak- 
ing charge  of  other  people's  money  when  you 
ain't  fit  for  it." 

48 


Paying  Off 

"I  sha'n't  try  to  do  anybody  else  a  kindness 
agin,  if  that's  wot  you  mean,"  I  ses,  looking  at 
'im. 

"No,  you'd  better  not,"  he  ses.  "This  par- 
tickler  bit  o'  kindness  'as  cost  you  four  pounds 
fifteen,  and  that's  a  curious  thing  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it.  Very  curious." 

"Wot  d'ye  mean?"  I  ses. 

"Why,"  he  ses,  grinning  like  a  madman,  "it's 
just  wot  we  lost  between  us.  I  lost  a  watch  and 
chain  worth  two  pounds,  and  another  couple 
o'  pounds  besides ;  Joe  lost  ten  shillings  over  'is 
di'mond  ring;  and  Charlie  lost  five  bob  over 
a  pipe.  'That's  four  pounds  fifteen — just  the 
same  as  you." 

Them  silly  fools  stood  there  choking  and 
sobbing  and  patting  each  other  on  the  back  as 
though  they'd  never  leave  off,  and  all  of  a  sud- 
den I  'ad  a  'orrible  suspicion  that  I  'ad  been 
done. 

"Did  you  see  the  sovereigns  in  the  box?"  I 
ses,  turning  to  the  skipper. 

"No,"  he  ses,  shaking  his  'ead. 
49 


Paying  Off 

"  'Ow  do  you  know  they  was  there,  then?" 
ses  I. 

"Because  you  took  charge  of  'em,"  said  the 
skipper;  "and  I  know  wot  a  clever,  sharp  chap 
you  are.  It  stands  to  reason  that  you  wouldn't 
be  responsible  for  a  box  like  that  unless  you  saw 
inside  of  it.  Why,  a  child  o'  five  wouldn't !" 

I  stood  there  looking  at  'im,  but  he  couldn't 
meet  my  eye.  None  of  'em  could;  and  arter 
waiting  there  for  a  minute  or  two  to  give  'em  a 
chance,  I  turned  my  back  on  'em  and  went  off  to 
my  dooty. 


Made  to  Measure 


Made  to  Measure 

MR.  MOTT  brought  his  niece  home  from 
the  station  with  considerable  pride. 
Although  he  had  received  a  photograph  to 
assist  identification,  he  had  been  very  dubious 
about  accosting  the  pretty,  well-dressed  girl  who 
had  stepped  from  the  train  and  gazed  around 
with  dove-like  eyes  in  search  of  him.  Now  he 
was  comfortably  conscious  of  the  admiring  gaze 
of  his  younger  fellow-townsmen. 

"You'll  find  it  a  bit  dull  after  London,  I 
expect,"  he  remarked,  as  he  inserted  his  key  in 
the  door  of  a  small  house  in  a  quiet  street. 

"I'm  tired  of  London,"  said  Miss  Garland. 
"I  think  this  is  a  beautiful  little  old  town — so 
peaceful." 

Mr.  Mott  looked  gratified. 

"I  hope  you'll  stay  a  long  time,"  he  said, 
53 


Made  to  Measure 

as  he  led  the  way  into  the  small  front  room. 
"I'm  a  lonely  old  man." 

His  niece  sank  into  an  easy  chair,  and  looked 
about  her. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  slowly.  "I  hope  I 
shall.  I  feel  better  already.  There  is  so  much 
to  upset  one  in  London." 

"Noise?"  queried  Mr.  Mott 

"And  other  things,"  said  Miss  Garland,  with 
a  slight  shudder. 

Mr.  Mott  sighed  in  sympathy  with  the  un- 
known, and,  judging  by  his  niece's  expression, 
the  unknowable.  He  rearranged  the  teacups, 
and,  going  to  the  kitchen,  returned  in  a  few 
minutes  with  a  pot  of  tea. 

"Mrs.  Pett  leaves  at  three,"  he  said,  in  ex- 
planation, "to  look  after  her  children,  but  she 
comes  back  again  at  eight  to  look  after  my  sup- 
per. And  how  is  your  mother?" 

Miss  Garland  told  him. 

"Last  letter  I  had  from  her,"  said  Mr.  Mott, 
stealing  a  glance  at  the  girl's  ring-finger,  "I  un- 
derstood you  were  engaged." 

54 


Made  to  Measure 

His  niece  drew  herself  up. 

"Certainly  not,"  she  said,  with  considerable 
vigour.  "I  have  seen  too  much  of  married  life. 
I  prefer  my  freedom.  Besides,  I  don't  like 
men." 

Mr.  Mott  said  modestly  that  he  didn't  won- 
der at  it,  and,  finding  the  subject  uncongenial, 
turned  the  conversation  on  to  worthier  subjects. 
Miss  Garland's  taste,  it  seemed,  lay  in  the  di- 
rection of  hospital  nursing,  or  some  other  occu- 
pation beneficial  to  mankind  at  large.  Simple 
and  demure,  she  filled  the  simpler  Mr.  Mott 
with  a  strong  sense  of  the  shortcomings  of  his 
unworthy  sex. 

Within  two  days,  under  the  darkling  glance 
of  Mrs.  Pett,  she  had  altered  the  arrangements 
of  the  house.  Flowers  appeared  on  the  meal- 
table,  knives  and  forks  were  properly  cleaned, 
and  plates  no  longer  appeared  ornamented  with 
the  mustard  of  a  previous  meal.  Fresh  air 
circulated  through  the  house,  and,  passing  from 
Mrs.  Pett's  left  knee  to  the  lumbar  region  of 
Mr.  Mott,  went  on  its  beneficent  way  rejoicing. 

55 


Made  to  Measure 

On  the  fifth  day  of  her  visit,  Mr.  Mott  sat 
alone  in  the  front  parlour.  The  window  was 
closed,  the  door  was  closed,  and  Mr.  Mott,  sit- 
ting in  an  easy  chair  with  his  feet  up,  was 
aroused  from  a  sound  nap  by  the  door  opening 
to  admit  a  young  man,  who,  deserted  by  Mrs. 
Pett,  stood  bowing  awkwardly  in  the  doorway. 

"Is  Miss  Garland  in?"  he  stammered. 

Mr.  Mott  rubbed  the  remnants  of  sleep  from 
his  eyelids. 

"She  has  gone  for  a  walk,"  he  said,  slowly. 

The  young  man  stood  fingering  his  hat. 

"My  name  is  Hurst,"  he  said,  with  slight 
emphasis.  "Mr.  Alfred  Hurst." 

Mr.  Mott,  still  somewhat  confused,  mur- 
mured that  he  was  glad  to  hear  it. 

"I  have  come  from  London  to  see  Florrie," 
continued  the  intruder.  "I  suppose  she  won't 
be  long?" 

Mr.  Mott  thought  not,  and  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  invited  Mr.  Hurst  to  take  a  chair. 

"I  suppose  she  told  you  we  are  engaged?" 
said  the  latter. 

56 


Made  to  Measure 

"Engaged!"  said  the  startled  Mr.  Mott. 
"Why,  she  told  me  she  didn't  like  men." 

"Playfulness,"  replied  Mr.  Hurst,  with  an 
odd  look.  "Ah,  here  she  is  1" 

The  handle  of  the  front  door  turned,  and  a 
moment  later  the  door  of  the  room  was  opened 
and  the  charming  head  of  Miss  Garland  ap- 
peared in  the  opening. 

"Back  again,"  she  said,  brightly.  "I've  just 
been " 

She  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Hurst,  and  the 
words  died  away  on  her  lips.  The  door 
slammed,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  exchanging 
glances,  heard  a  hurried  rush  upstairs  and  the 
slamming  of  another  door.  Also  a  key  was 
heard  to  turn  sharply  in  a  lock. 

"She  doesn't  want  to  see  you,"  said  Mr. 
Mott,  staring. 

The  young  man  turned  pale. 

"Perhaps  she  has  gone  upstairs  to  take  her 
things  off,"  he  muttered,  resuming  his  seat. 
"Don't— don't  hurry  her!" 

"I  wasn't  going  to,"  said  Mr.  Mott. 
57 


Made  to  Measure 

He  twisted  his  beard  uneasily,  and  at  the  end 
of  ten  minutes  looked  from  the  clock  to  Mr. 
Hurst  and  coughed. 

"If  you  wouldn't  mind  letting  her  know  I'm 
waiting,"  said  the  young  man,  brokenly. 

Mr.  Mott  rose,  and  went  slowly  upstairs. 
More  slowly  still,  after  an  interval  of  a  few 
minutes,  he  came  back  again. 

"She  doesn't  want  to  see  you,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

Mr.  Hurst  gasped. 

"I — I  must  see  her,"  he  faltered. 

"She  won't  see  you,"  repeated  Mr.  Mott. 
"And  she  told  me  to  say  she  was  surprised  at 
you  following  her  down  here." 

Mr.  Hurst  uttered  a  faint  moan,  and  with 
bent  head  passed  into  the  little  passage  and  out 
into  the  street,  leaving  Mr.  Mott  to  return  to 
the  sitting-room  and  listen  to  such  explanations 
as  Miss  Garland  deemed  advisable.  Great 
goodness  of  heart  in  the  face  of  persistent  and 
unwelcome  attentions  appeared  to  be  responsi- 
ble for  the  late  engagement. 

58 


Made  to  Measure 

"Well,  it's  over  now,"  said  her  uncle,  kindly, 
"and  no  doubt  he'll  soon  find  somebody  else. 
There  are  plenty  of  girls  would  jump  at  him, 
I  expect." 

Miss  Garland  shook  her  head. 

"He  said  he  couldn't  live  without  me,"  she 
remarked,  soberly. 

Mr.  Mott  laughed. 

"In  less  than  three  months  I  expect  he'll 
be  congratulating  himself,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 
"Why,  I  was  nearly  cau — married,  four  times. 
It's  a  silly  age." 

His  niece  said  "Indeed!"  and,  informing  him 
in  somewhat  hostile  tones  that  she  was  suffering 
from  a  severe  headache,  retired  to  her  room. 

Mr.  Mott  spent  the  evening  by  himself,  and 
retiring  to  bed  at  ten-thirty  was  awakened  by  a 
persistent  knocking  at  the  front  door  at  half- 
past  one.  Half  awakened,  he  lit  a  candle,  and, 
stumbling  downstairs,  drew  back  the  bolt  of  the 
door,  and  stood  gaping  angrily  at  the  pathetic 
features  of  Mr.  Hurst. 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,"  said  the  young  man, 
59 


Made  to  Measure 

"but  would  you  mind  giving  this  letter  to  Miss 
Garland?" 

"Sorry  to  disturb  me !"  stuttered  Mr.  Mott. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  it?  Eh?  What  do 
you  mean  by  it?" 

"It  is  important,"  said  Mr.  Hurst.  "I  can't 
rest.  I've  eaten  nothing  all  day." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  snapped  the  irritated  Mr. 
Mott. 

"If  you  will  give  her  that  letter,  I  shall  feel 
easier,"  said  Mr.  Hurst. 

"I'll  give  it  to  her  in  the  morning,"  said  the 
other,  snatching  it  from  him.  "Now  get  off." 

Mr.  Hurst  still  murmuring  apologies,  went, 
and  Mr.  Mott,  also  murmuring,  returned  to 
bed.  The  night  was  chilly,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  get  to  sleep  again.  He 
succeeded  at  last,  only  to  be  awakened  an  hour 
later  by  a  knocking  more  violent  than  before. 
In  a  state  of  mind  bordering  upon  frenzy,  he 
dived  into  his  trousers  again  and  went  blunder- 
ing downstairs  in  the  dark. 

"Sorry  to "  began  Mr.  Hurst. 

60 


Made  to  Measure 

Mr.  Mott  made  uncouth  noises  at  him. 

UI  have  altered  my  mind,"  said  the  young 
man.  "Would  you  mind  letting  me  have  that 
letter  back  again?  It  was  too  final." 

"You — get — off!"  said  the  other,  trembling 
with  cold  and  passion. 

"I  must  have  that  letter,"  said  Mr.  Hurst, 
doggedly.  "All  my  future  happiness  may  de- 
pend upon  it." 

Mr.  Mott,  afraid  to  trust  himself  with 
speech,  dashed  upstairs,  and  after  a  search  for 
the  matches  found  the  letter,  and,  returning  to 
the  front  door,  shut  it  on  the  visitor's  thanks. 
His  niece's  door  opened  as  he  passed  it,  and  a 
gentle  voice  asked  for  enlightenment. 

"How  silly  of  him!"  she  said,  softly.  "I 
hope  he  won't  catch  cold.  What  did  you  say?" 

"I  was  coughing,"  said  Mr.  Mott,  hastily. 

"You'll  get  cold  if  you're  not  careful,"  said 
his  thoughtful  niece.  "That's  the  worst  of 
men,  they  never  seem  to  have  any  thought. 
Did  he  seem  angry,  or  mournful,  or  what?  I 
suppose  you  couldn't  see  his  face  ?" 

61 


Made  to  Measure 

"I  didn't  try,"  said  Mr.  Mott,  crisply. 
"Good  night." 

By  the  morning  his  ill-humour  had  vanished, 
and  he  even  became  slightly  facetious  over  the 
events  of  the  night.  The  mood  passed  at 
the  same  moment  that  Mr.  Hurst  passed  the 
window. 

"Better  have  him  in  and  get  it  over,"  he  said, 
irritably. 

Miss  Garland  shuddered. 

"Never!"  she  said,  firmly.  "He'd  be  down 
on  his  knees.  It  would  be  too  painful.  You 
don't  know  him." 

"Don't  want  to,"  said  Mr.  Mott. 

He  finished  his  breakfast  in  silence,  and,  after 
a  digestive  pipe,  proposed  a  walk.  The  pro- 
file of  Mr.  Hurst,  as  it  went  forlornly  past  the 
window  again,  served  to  illustrate  Miss  Gar- 
land's refusal. 

"I'll  go  out  and  see  him,"  said  Mr.  Mott, 
starting  up.  "Are  you  going  to  be  a  prisoner 
here  until  this  young  idiot  chooses  to  go  home  ? 
It's  preposterous!" 

62 


Made  to  Measure 

He  crammed  his  hat  on  firmly  and  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  Mr.  Hurst,  who  was  walking  slowly 
up  the  street,  glancing  over  his  shoulder. 

"Morning!"  said  Mr.  Mott,  fiercely. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  other. 

"Now,  look  here,"  said  Mr.  Mott.  "This 
has  gone  far  enough,  and  I  won't  have  any  more 
of  it.  Why,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self, chivvying  a  young  lady  that  doesn't  want 
you.  Haven't  you  got  any  pride?" 

"No,"  said  the  young  man,  "not  where  she 
is  concerned." 

"I  don't  believe  you  have,"  said  the  other, 
regarding  him,  "and  I  expect  that's  where  the 
trouble  is.  Did  she  ever  have  reason  to  think 
you  were  looking  after  any  other  girls?" 

"Never,  I  swear  it,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  eagerly. 

"Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Mott,  with  a  satisfied 
nod.  "That's  where  you  made  a  mistake. 
She  was  too  sure  of  you ;  it  was  too  easy.  No 
excitement.  Girls  like  a  man  that  other  girls 
want;  they  don't  want  a  turtle-dove  in  fancy 
trousers." 

63 


Made  to  Measure 

Mr.  Hurst  coughed. 

"And  they  like  a  determined  man,"  continued 
Miss  Garland's  uncle.  "Why,  in  my  young 
days,  if  I  had  been  jilted,  and  come  down  to  see 
about  it,  d'you  think  I'd  have  gone  out  of  the 
house  without  seeing  her?  I  might  have  been 
put  out — by  half-a-dozen — but  I'd  have  taken 
the  mantelpiece  and  a  few  other  things  with  me. 
And  you  are  bigger  than  I  am." 

"We  aren't  all  made  the  same,"  said  Mr. 
Hurst,  feebly. 

"No,  we're  not,"  said  Mr.  Mott  "I'm  not 
blaming  you;  in  a  way,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  If 
you're  not  born  with  a  high  spirit,  nothing'll 
give  it  to  you." 

"It  might  be  learnt,"  said  Mr.  Hurst. 

Mr.  Mott  laughed. 

"High  spirits  are  born,  not  made,"  he  said. 
"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  and  find 
another  girl,  and  marry  her  before  she  finds  you 
out." 

Mr.  Hurst  shook  his  head. 

"There's  no  other  girl  for  me,"  he  said,  mis- 
64 


Made  to  Measure 

erably.  "And  everything  seemed  to  be  going 
so  well.  We've  been  buying  things  for  the 
house  for  the  last  six  months,  and  I've  just  got 
a  good  rise  in  my  screw." 

"It'll  do  for  another  girl,"  said  Mr.  Mott, 
briskly.  "Now,  you  get  off  back  to  town.  You 
are  worrying  Florrie  by  staying  here,  and  you 
are  doing  no  good  to  anybody.  Good-bye." 

"I'll  walk  back  as  far  as  the  door  with  you," 
said  Mr.  Hurst.  "You've  done  me  good.  It's 
a  pity  I  didn't  meet  you  before." 

Mr.  Mott  smiled. 

"Remember  what  I've  told  you,  and  you'll 
do  well  yet,"  he  said,  patting  the  young  man  on 
the  arm. 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  and  walked  on  by 
his  side,  deep  in  thought. 

"I  can't  ask  you  in,"  said  Mr.  Mott,  joc- 
ularly, as  he  reached  his  door,  and  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock.  "Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Mr.  Hurst. 

He  grasped  the  other's  outstretched  hand, 
and  with  a  violent  jerk  pulled  him  into  the 

65 


Made  to  Measure 

street.  Then  he  pushed  open  the  door,  and, 
slipping  into  the  passage,  passed  hastily  into 
the  front  room,  closely  followed  by  the  infuri- 
ated Mr.  Mott. 

"What  —  what  — •  what !"  stammered  that 
gentleman. 

"I'm  taking  your  tip,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  pale 
but  determined.  "I'm  going  to  stay  here  until 
I  have  seen  Florrie." 

"You — you're  a  serpent,"  said  Mr.  Mott, 
struggling  for  breath.  "I — I'm  surprised  at 
you.  You  go  out  before  you  get  hurt." 

"Not  without  the  mantelpiece,"  said  Mr. 
Hurst,  with  a  distorted  grin. 

"A  viper!"  said  Mr.  Mott,  with  extreme 
bitterness.  "If  you  are  not  out  in  two  minutes 
I'll  send  for  the  police." 

"Florrie  wouldn't  like  that,"  said  Mr.  Hurst. 
"She's  awfully  particular  about  what  people 
think.  You  just  trot  upstairs  and  tell  her  that 
a  gentleman  wants  to  see  her." 

He  threw  himself  into  Mr.  Mott's  own  par- 
ticular easy  chair,  and,  crossing  his  knees,  turned 

66 


Made  to  Measure 

a  deaf  ear  to  the  threats  of  that  incensed  gentle- 
man. Not  until  the  latter  had  left  the  room 
did  his  features  reveal  the  timorousness  of  the 
soul  within.  Muffled  voices  sounded  from  up- 
stairs, and  it  was  evident  that  an  argument  of 
considerable  length  was  in  progress.  It  was 
also  evident  from  the  return  of  Mr.  Mott  alone 
that  his  niece  had  had  the  best  of  it. 

"I've  done  all  I  could,"  he  said,  "but  she  de- 
clines to  see  you.  She  says  she  won't  see  you 
if  you  stay  here  for  a  month,  and  you  couldn't 
do  that,  you  know." 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Mr.  Hurst. 

"Why  not?"  repeated  Mr.  Mott,  repressing 
his  feelings  with  some  difficulty.  "Food!" 

Mr.  Hurst  started. 

"And  drink,"  said  Mr.  Mott,  following  up 
his  advantage.  "There's  no  good  in  starving 
yourself  for  nothing,  so  you  may  as  well 

go-" 

"When  I've  seen  Florrie,"  said  the  young 
man,  firmly. 

Mr.  Mott  slammed  the  door,  and  for  the 
67 


Made  to  Measure 

rest  of  the  day  Mr.  Hurst  saw  him  no  more. 
At  one  o'clock  a  savoury  smell  passed  the  door 
on  its  way  upstairs,  and  at  five  o'clock  a  middle- 
aged  woman  with  an  inane  smile  looked  into 
the  room  on  her  way  aloft  with  a  loaded  tea- 
tray.  By  supper-time  he  was  suffering  consid- 
erably from  hunger  and  thirst. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  heard  the  footsteps  of  Mr. 
Mott  descending  the  stairs.  The  door  opened 
an  inch,  and  a  gruff  voice  demanded  to  know 
whether  he  was  going  to  stay  there  all  night. 
Receiving  a  cheerful  reply  in  the  affirmative, 
Mr.  Mott  secured  the  front  door  with  consider- 
able violence,  and  went  off  to  bed  without  an- 
other word. 

He  was  awakened  an  hour  or  two  later  by 
the  sound  of  something  falling,  and,  sitting  up 
in  bed  to  listen,  became  aware  of  a  warm  and 
agreeable  odour.  It  was  somewhere  about  the 
hour  of  midnight,  but  a  breakfast  smell  of  eggs 
and  bacon  would  not  be  denied. 

He  put  on  some  clothes  and  went  downstairs. 
A  crack  of  light  showed  under  the  kitchen  door, 

68 


Made  to  Measure 

and,  pushing  it  open  with  some  force,  he  gazed 
spellbound  at  the  spectacle  before  him. 

"Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  heartily.  "I've 
just  finished." 

He  rocked  an  empty  beer-bottle  and  patted 
another  that  was  half  full.  Satiety  was  written 
on  his  face  as  he  pushed  an  empty  plate  from 
him,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  smiled  lazily 
at  Mr.  Mott. 

"Go  on,"  said  that  gentleman,  hoarsely. 

Mr.  Hurst  shook  his  head. 

"Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast,"  he  said,  rea- 
sonably. "I'll  have  some  more  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  will  you?"  said  the  other.  "Will 
you?" 

Mr.  Hurst  nodded,  and,  opening  his  coat, 
disclosed  a  bottle  of  beer  in  each  breast-pocket. 
The  other  pockets,  it  appeared,  contained  food. 

"And  here's  the  money  for  it,"  he  said,  put- 
ting down  some  silver  on  the  table.  "I  am  de- 
termined, but  honest." 

With  a  sweep  of  his  hand,  Mr.  Mott  sent  the 
money  flying. 

69 


Made  to  Measure 

"To-morrow  morning  I  send  for  the  police. 
Mind  that!"  he  roared. 

"I'd  better  have  my  breakfast  early,  then," 
said  Mr.  Hurst,  tapping  his  pockets.  "Good 
night.  And  thank  you  for  your  advice." 

He  sat  for  some  time  after  the  disappearance 
of  his  host,  and  then,  returning  to  the  front 
room,  placed  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  sofa  and, 
with  the  tablecloth  for  a  quilt,  managed  to 
secure  a  few  hours'  troubled  sleep.  At  eight 
o'clock  he  washed  at  the  scullery  sink,  and  at  ten 
o'clock  Mr.  Mott,  with  an  air  of  great  determi- 
nation, came  in  to  deliver  his  ultimatum. 

"If  you're  not  outside  the  front  door  in  five 
minutes,  I'm  going  to  fetch  the  police,"  he  said, 
fiercely. 

"I  want  to  see  Florrie,"  said  the  other. 

"Well,  you  won't  see  her,"  shouted  Mr. 
Mott. 

Mr.  Hurst  stood  feeling  his  chin. 

"Well,  would  you  mind  taking  a  message  for 
me?"  he  asked.  "I  just  want  you  to  ask  her 

70 


Made  to  Measure 

whether  I  am  really  free.  Ask  her  whether  I 
am  free  to  marry  again." 

Mr.  Mott  eyed  him  in  amazement. 

"You  see,  I  only  heard  from  her  mother," 
pursued  Mr.  Hurst,  "and  a  friend  of  mine  who 
is  in  a  solicitor's  office  says  that  isn't  good 
enough.  I  only  came  down  here  to  make  sure, 
and  I  think  the  least  she  can  do  is  to  tell  me 
herself.  If  she  won't  see  me,  perhaps  she'd 
put  it  in  writing.  You  see,  there's  another 
lady." 

"But "  said  the  mystified  Mr.  Mott. 

"You  told  me " 

"You  tell  her  that,"  said  the  other. 

Mr.  Mott  stood  for  a  few  seconds  staring  at 
him,  and  then  without  a  word  turned  on  his  heel 
and  went  upstairs.  Left  to  himself,  Mr.  Hurst 
walked  nervously  up  and  down  the  room,  and, 
catching  sight  of  his  face  in  the  old-fashioned 
glass  on  the  mantel-piece,  heightened  its  colour 
by  a  few  pinches.  The  minutes  seemed  inter- 
minable, but  at  last  he  heard  the  steps  of  Mr. 
Mott  on  the  stairs  again. 


Made  to  Measure 

"She's  coming  down-  to  see  you  herself,"  said 
the  latter,  solemnly. 

Mr.  Hurst  nodded,  and,  turning  to  the  win- 
dow, tried  in  vain  to  take  an  interest  in  passing 
events.  A  light  step  sounded  on  the  stairs,  the 
door  creaked,  and  he  turned  to  find  himself  con- 
fronted by  Miss  Garland. 

"Uncle  told  me "  she  began,  coldly. 

Mr.  Hurst  bowed. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  you  so  much 
trouble,"  he  said,  trying  to  control  his  voice, 
"but  you  see  my  position,  don't  you?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl. 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  make  sure,"  said  Mr. 
Hurst.  "It's  best  for  all  of  us,  isn't  it?  Best 
for  you,  best  for  me,  and,  of  course,  for  my 
young  lady." 

"You  never  said  anything  about  her  before," 
said  Miss  Garland,  her  eyes  darkening. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Hurst.  "How 
could  I?  I  was  engaged  to  you,  and  then  she 
wasn't  my  young  lady;  but,  of  course,  as  soon 

as  you  broke  it  off " 

72 


Made  to  Measure 

"Who  is  she?"  inquired  Miss  Garland,  in  a 
casual  voice. 

"You  don't  know  her,"  said  Mr.  Hurst. 

"What. is  she  like?" 

"I  can't  describe  her  very  well,"  said  Mr. 
Hurst.  "I  can  only  say  she's  the  most  beauti- 
ful girl  I  have  ever  seen.  I  think  that's  what 
made  me  take  to  her.  And  she's  easily  pleased. 
She  liked  the  things  I  have  been  buying  for  the 
house  tremendously." 

"Did  she?"  said  Miss  Garland,  with  a  gasp. 

"All  except  that  pair  of  vases  you  chose," 
continued  the  veracious  Mr.  Hurst.  "She  says 
they  are  in  bad  taste,  but  she  can  give  them  to 
the  charwoman." 

"Oh!"  said  the  girl.  "Oh,  indeed!  Very 
kind  of  her.  Isn't  there  anything  else  she 
doesn't  like?" 

Mr.  Hurst  stood  considering. 

"She  doesn't  like  the  upholstering  of  the  best 
chairs,"  he  said  at  last.  "She  thinks  they  are 
too  showy,  so  she's  going  to  put  covers  over 
them." 

73 


Made  to  Measure 

There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  Mr. 
Mott,  taking  his  niece  gently  by  the  arm,  assisted 
her  to  a  chair. 

"Otherwise  she  is  quite  satisfied,"  concluded 
Mr.  Hurst. 

Miss  Garland  took  a  deep  breath,  but  made 
no  reply. 

"I  have  got  to  satisfy  her  that  I  am  free," 
said  the  young  man,  after  another  pause.  "I 
suppose  that  I  can  do  so?" 

"I — I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Miss  Garland, 
in  a  low  voice.  "I  am  not  sure  what  is  the 
right  thing  to  do.  I  don't  want  to  see  you 
made  miserable  for  life.  It's  nothing  to  me,  of 
course,  but  still " 

She  got  up  and,  shaking  off  the  proffered  as- 
sistance of  her  uncle,  went  slowly  and  languidly 
up  to  her  room.  Mr.  Mott  followed  her  as 
far  as  the  door,  and  then  turned  indignantly 
upon  Mr.  Hurst. 

"You — you've  broke  her  heart,"  he  said, 
solemnly. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Hurst,  with  a 
delighted  wink.  "I'll  mend  it  again." 

74 


Sam's  Ghost 


Sam's  Ghost 

YES,  I  know,  said  the  night-watchman, 
thoughtfully,  as  he  sat  with  a  cold  pipe 
in  his  mouth  gazing  across  the  river.  I've 
'card  it  afore.  People  tell  me  they  don't  believe 
in  ghosts  and  make  a  laugh  of  'em,  and  all  I 
say  is :  let  them  take  on  a  night-watchman's  job. 
Let  'em  sit  'ere  all  alone  of  a  night  with  the 
water  lapping  against  the  posts  and  the  wind 
moaning  in  the  corners;  especially  if  a  pal  of 
theirs  has  slipped  overboard,  and  there  is  little 
nasty  bills  stuck  up  just  outside  in  the  High 
Street  offering  a  reward  for  the  body.  Twice 
men  'ave  fallen  overboard  from  this  jetty,  and 
I've  'ad  to  stand  my  watch  here  the  same  night, 
and  not  a  farthing  more  for  it. 

One  of  the  worst  and  artfullest  ghosts  I  ever 
•ad  anything  to  do  with  was  Sam  Bullet.  He 
was  a  waterman  at  the  stairs  near  by  'ere;  the 

77 


Sam's  Ghost 

sort  o'  man  that  'ud  get  you  to  pay  for  drinks, 
and  drink  yours  up  by  mistake  arter  he  'ad 
finished  his  own.  The  sort  of  man  that  'ad 
always  left  his  baccy-box  at  'ome,  but  always 
'ad  a  big  pipe  in  'is  pocket. 

He  fell  overboard  off  of  a  lighter  one  eve- 
ning, and  all  that  his  mates  could  save  was  'is 
cap.  It  was  on'y  two  nights  afore  that  he  'ad 
knocked  down  an  old  man  and  bit  a  policeman's 
little  finger  to  the  bone,  so  that,  as  they  pointed 
out  to  the  widder,  p'r'aps  he  was  taken  for  a 
wise  purpose.  P'r'aps  he  was  'appier  where 
he  was  than  doing  six  months. 

"He  was  the  sort  o'  chap  that'll  make  himself 
'appy  anywhere"  ses  one  of  'em,  comforting- 
like. 

"Not  without  me,"  ses  Mrs.  Bullet,  sobbing, 
and  wiping  her  eyes  on  something  she  used  for 
a  pocket-hankercher.  "He  never  could  bear  to 
be  away  from  me.  Was  there  no  last  words?" 

"On'y  one,"  ses  one  o'  the  chaps,  Joe  Peel 
by  name. 

"As  'e  fell  overboard,"  ses  the  other. 
78 


Sam's  Ghost 

Mrs.  Bullet  began  to  cry  agin,  and  say  wot 
a  good  'usband  he  'ad  been.  "Seventeen 
years  come  Michaelmas,"  she  ses,  "and  never  a 
cross  word.  Nothing  was  too  good  for  me. 
Nothing.  I  'ad  only  to  ask  to  'ave." 

"Well,  he's  gorn  now,"  ses  Joe,  "and  we 
thought  we  ought  to  come  round  and  tell  you." 

"So  as  you  can  tell  the  police,"  ses  the  other 
chap. 

That  was  'ow  I  came  to  hear  of  it  fust;  a 
policeman  told  me  that  night  as  I  stood  outside 
the  gate  'aving  a  quiet  pipe.  He  wasn't  shed- 
ding tears;  his  only  idea  was  that  Sam  'ad  got 
off  too  easy. 

"Well,  well,"  I  ses,  trying  to  pacify  'im,  "he 
won't  bite  no  more  fingers;  there's  no  police- 
men where  he's  gorn  to." 

He  went  off  grumbling  and  telling  me  to  be 
careful,  and  I  put  my  pipe  out  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  wharf  thinking.  On'y  a  month 
afore  I  'ad  lent  Sam  fifteen  shillings  on  a  gold 
watch  and  chain  wot  he  said  an  uncle  'ad  left 
'im.  I  wasn't  wearing  it  because  'e  said  'is 
i  79 


Sam's  Ghost 

uncle  wouldn't  like  it,  but  I  'ad  it  in  my  pocket, 
and  I  took  it  out  under  one  of  the  lamps  and 
wondered  wot  I  ought  to  do. 

My  fust  idea  was  to  take  it  to  Mrs.  Bullet, 
and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  thought  struck 
me :  "Suppose  he  'adn't  come  by  it  honest?" 

I  walked  up  and  down  agin,  thinking.  If  he 
'adn  t,  and  it  was  found  out,  it  would  blacken 
his  good  name  and  break  'is  pore  wife's  'art. 
That's  the  way  I  looked  at  it,  and  for  his  sake 
and  'er  sake  I  determined  to  stick  to  it. 

I  felt  'appier  in  my  mind  when  I  'ad  decided 
on  that,  and  I  went  round  to  the  Bear's  Head 
and  'ad  a  pint.  Arter  that  I  'ad  another,  and 
then  I  come  back  to  the  wharf  and  put  the  watch 
and  chain  on  and  went  on  with  my  work. 

Every  time  I  looked  down  at  the  chain  on  my 
waistcoat  it  reminded  me  of  Sam.  I  looked  on 
to  the  river  and  thought  of  'im  going  down  on 
the  ebb.  Then  I  got  a  sort  o'  lonesome  feeling 
standing  on  the  end  of  the  jetty  all  alone,  and 
I  went  back  to  the  Bear's  Head  and  'ad  another 
pint. 

80 


Sam's  Ghost 

They  didn't  find  the  body,  and  I  was  a'most 
forgetting  about  Sam  when  one  evening,  as  I 
was  sitting  on  a  box  waiting  to  get  my  breath 
back  to  'ave  another  go  at  sweeping,  Joe  Peel, 
Sam's  mate,  came  on  to  the  wharf  to  see  me. 

He  came  in  a  mysterious  sort  o'  way  that  I 
didn't  like :  looking  be'ind  'im  as  though  he  was 
afraid  of  being  follered,  and  speaking  in  a  whis- 
per as  if  'e  was  afraid  of  being  heard.  He 
wasn't  a  man  I  liked,  and  I  was  glad  that  the 
watch  and  chain  was  stowed  safe  away  in  my 
trowsis-pocket. 

"I've  'ad  a  shock,  watchman,"  he  ses. 

"Oh  !"Ises. 

"A  shock  wot's  shook  me  all  up,"  he  ses, 
working  up  a  shiver.  "I've  seen  something 
wot  I  thought  people  never  could  see,  and  wot  I 
never  want  to  see  agin.  I've  seen  Sam!" 

I  thought  a  bit  afore  I  spoke.  "Why,  I 
thought  he  was  drownded,"  I  ses. 

"  So  'e  is,"  ses  Joe.  "When  I  say  IVe  seen 
Mm  I  mean  that  I  'ave  seen  his  ghost!" 

He  began  to  shiver  agin,  all  over. 
81 


Sam's  Ghost 

"Wot  was  it  like  ?"  I  ses,  very  calm. 
"Like  Sam,"  he  ses,  rather  short. 
"When  was  it?"  I  ses. 
"Last  night  at  a  quarter  to  twelve,"  he  ses. 
"It  was  standing  at  my  front  door  waiting  for 


me." 


"And  'ave  you  been  shivering  like  that  ever 
since?"  I  ses. 

"Worse  than  that,"  ses  Joe,  looking  at  me 
very  'ard.  "It's  wearing  off  now.  The  ghost 
gave  me  a  message  for  you." 

I  put  my  'and  in  my  trowsis-pocket  and 
looked  at  'im.  Then  I  walked  very  slow, 
towards  the  gate. 

"It  gave  me  a  message  for  you,"  ses  Joe, 
walking  beside  me.  "  'We  was  always  pals, 
Joe,'  "  it  ses,  "  'you  and  me,  and  I  want  you  to 
pay  up  fifteen  bob  for  me  wot  I  borrowed  off  of 
Bill  the  watchman.  I  can't  rest  until  it's  paid,' 
it  ses.  So  here's  the  fifteen  bob,  watchman." 

He  put  his  'and  in  'is  pocket  and  takes  out 
fifteen  bob  and  'olds  it  out  to  me. 

"No,  no,"  I  ses.  "I  can't  take  your  money, 
82 


Sam's  Ghost 

Joe  Peel.  It  wouldn't  be  right.  Pore  Sam 
is  welcome  to  the  fifteen  bob — I  don't  want 
it." 

"You  must  take  it,"  ses  Joe.  "The  ghost 
said  if  you  didn't  it  would  come  to  me  agin  and 
agin  till  you  did,  and  I  can't  stand  any  more  of 
it." 

"I  can't  'elp  your  troubles,"  I  ses. 

"You  must,"  ses  Joe.  "  'Give  Bill  the  fif- 
teen bob,'  it  ses,  'and  he'll  give  you  a  gold  watch 
and  chain  wot  I  gave  'im  to  mind  till  it  was 
paid.'  " 

I  see  his  little  game  then.  "Gold  watch  and 
chain,"  I  ses,  laughing.  "You  must  ha'  mis- 
understood it,  Joe." 

"I  understood  it  right  enough,"  ses  Joe,  get- 
ting a  bit  closer  to  me  as  I  stepped  outside  the 
gate.  "Here's  your  fifteen  bob;  are  you  going 
to  give  me  that  watch  and  chain?" 

"Sartainly  not,"  I  ses.  "I  don't  know  wot 
you  mean  by  a  watch  and  chain.  //  I  'ad  it  and 
I  gave  it  to  anybody,  I  should  give  it  to  Sam's 
widder,  not  to  you." 

83 


Sam's  Ghost 

"It's  nothing  to  do  with  'er,"  ses  Joe,  very 
quick.  "Sam  was  most  pertikler  about  that." 

"I  expect  you  dreamt  it  all,"  I  ses.  "Where 
would  pore  Sam  get  a  gold  watch  and  chain 
from?  And  why  should  'e  go  to  you  about  it? 
Why  didn't  'e  come  to  me?  If  'e  thinks  I  'ave 
got  it  let  'im  come  to  me." 

"All  right,  I'll  go  to  the  police-station,"  ses 
Joe. 

"I'll  come  with  you,"  I  ses.  "But  'ere's  a 
policeman  coming  along.  Let's  go  to  'im." 

I  moved  towards  'im,  but  Joe  hung  back,  and, 
arter  using  one  or  two  words  that  would  ha' 
made  any  ghost  ashamed  to  know  'im,  he 
sheered  off.  I  'ad  a  word  or  two  with  the 
policeman  about  the  weather,  and  then  I  went 
inside  and  locked  the  gate. 

My  idea  was  that  Sam  'ad  told  Joe  about  the 
watch  and  chain  afore  he  fell  overboard.  Joe 
was  a  nasty  customer,  and  I  could  see  that  I 
should  'ave  to  be  a  bit  careful.  Some  men 
might  ha'  told  the  police  about  it — but  I  never 
cared  much  for  them.  They're  like  kids  in  a 


Sam's  Ghost 

way,  always  asking  questions — most  of  which 
you  can't  answer. 

It  was  a  little  bit  creepy  all  alone  on  the 
wharf  that  night.  I  don't  deny  it.  Twice  I 
thought  I  'card  something  coming  up  on  tip- 
toe behind  me.  The  second  time  I  was  so  nerv- 
ous that  I  began  to  sing  to  keep  my  spirits  up, 
and  I  went  on  singing  till  three  of  the  hands  of 
the  Susan  Emily,  wot  was  lying  alongside,  came 
up  from  the  fo'c'sle  and  offered  to  fight  me.  I 
was  thankful  when  daylight  came. 

Five  nights  arterwards  I  'ad  the  shock  of  my 
life.  It  was  the  fust  night  for  some  time  that 
there  was  no  craft  up.  A  dark  night,  and  a 
nasty  moaning  sort  of  a  wind.  I  'ad  just 
lighted  the  lamp  at  the  corner  of  the  warehouse, 
wot  'ad  blown  out,  and  was  sitting  down  to  rest 
afore  putting  the  ladder  away,  when  I  'appened 
to  look  along  the  jetty  and  saw  a  head  coming 
up  over  the  edge  of  it.  In  the  light  of  the  lamp 
I  saw  the  dead  white  face  of  Sam  Bullet's  ghost 
making  faces  at  me. 

I  just  caught  my  breath,  sharp  like,  and  then 
85 


Sam's  Ghost 

turned  and  ran  for  the  gate  like  a  race-horse. 
I  'ad  left  the  key  in  the  padlock,  in  case  of  any- 
thing happening,  and  I  just  gave  it  one  turn, 
flung  the  wicket  open  and  slammed  it  in  the 
ghost's  face,  and  tumbled  out  into  the  road. 

I  ran  slap  into  the  arms  of  a  young  policeman 
wot  was  passing.  Nasty,  short-tempered  chap 
he  was,  but  I  don't  think  I  was  more  glad  to  see 
anybody  in  my  life.  I  hugged  'im  till  'e  nearly 
lost  'is  breath,  and  then  he  sat  me  down  on  the 
kerb-stone  and  asked  me  wot  I  meant  by  it. 

Wot  with  the  excitement  and  the  running  I 
couldn't  speak  at  fust,  and  when  I  did  he  said 
I  was  trying  to  deceive  'im. 

"There  ain't  no  such  thing  as  ghosts,"  he 
ses;  "you've  been  drinking." 

"It  came  up  out  o'  the  river  and  run  arter  me 
like  the  wind,"  I  ses. 

"Why  didn't  it  catch  you,  then?"  he  ses, 
looking  me  up  and  down  and  all  round  about. 
"Talk  sense." 

He  went  up  to  the  gate  and  peeped  in,  and, 
arter  watching  a  moment,  stepped  inside  and 

86 


Sam's  Ghost 

walked  down  the  wharf,  with  me  follering.  It 
was  my  dooty;  besides,  I  didn't  like  being  left 
all  alone  by  myself. 

Twice  we  walked  up  and  down  and  all  over 
the  wharf.  He  flashed  his  lantern  into  all  the 
dark  corners,  into  empty  barrels  and  boxes,  and 
then  he  turned  and  flashed  it  right  into  my  face 
and  shook  his  'ead  at  me. 

"You've  been  having  a  bit  of  a  lark  with  me," 
he  ses,  "and  for  two  pins  I'd  take  you.  Mind, 
if  you  say  a  word  about  this  to  anybody,  I  will." 

He  stalked  off  with  his  'ead  in  the  air,  and 
left  me  all  alone  in  charge  of  a  wharf  with  a 
ghost  on  it.  I  stayed  outside  in  the  street,  of 
course,  but  every  now  and  then  I  fancied  I 
heard  something  moving  about  the  other  side 
of  the  gate,  and  once  it  was  so  distinct  that  I  run 
along  to  the  Bear's  Head  and  knocked  'em  up 
and  asked  them  for  a  little  brandy,  for  illness. 

I  didn't  get  it,  of  course;  I  didn't  expect  to; 
but  I  'ad  a  little  conversation  with  the  landlord 
from  'is  bedroom-winder  that  did  me  more 
good  than  the  brandy  would  ha'  done.  Once 

87 


Sam's  Ghost 

or  twice  I  thought  he  would  'ave  fallen  out,  and 
many  a  man  has  'ad  his  licence  taken  away  for 
less  than  a  quarter  of  wot  'e  said  to  me  that 
night.  Arter  he  thought  he  'ad  finished  and 
was  going  back  to  bed  agin,  I  pointed' out  to  'im 
that  he  'adn't  kissed  me  "good  night,"  and  if  it 
'adn't  ha'  been  for  'is  missis  and  two  grown-up 
daughters  and  the  potman  I  believe  he'd  ha' 
talked  to  me  till  daylight. 

'Ow  I  got  through  the  rest  of  the  night  I 
don't  know.  It  seemed  to  be  twenty  nights  in- 
stead of  one,  but  the  day  came  at  last,  and  when 
the  hands  came  on  at  six  o'clock  they  found  the 
gate  open  and  me  on  dooty  same  as  usual. 

I  slept  like  a  tired  child  when  I  got  'ome,  and 
arter  a  steak  and  onions  for  dinner  I  sat  down 
and  lit  my  pipe  and  tried  to  think  wot  was  to  be 
done.  One  thing  I  was  quite  certain  about:  I 
wasn't  going  to  spend  another  night  on  that 
wharf  alone. 

I  went  out  arter  a  bit,  as  far  as  the  Claren- 
don Arms,  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and  I  'ad 
just  finished  a  pint  and  was  wondering  whether 


Sam's  Ghost 

I  ought  to  'ave  another,  when  Ted  Dennis  came 
in,  and  my  mind  was  made  up.  He  'ad  been  in 
the  Army  all  'is  life,  and,  so  far,  he  'ad  never 
seen  anything  that  'ad  frightened  'im.  I've 
seen  him  myself  take  on  men  twice  'is  size  just 
for  the  love  of  the  thing,  and,  arter  knocking 
them  silly,  stand  'em  a  pint  out  of  'is  own  poc- 
ket. When  I  asked  'im  whether  he  was  afraid 
of  ghosts  he  laughed  so  'ard  that  the  landlord 
came  from  the  other  end  of  the  bar  to  see  wot 
was  the  matter. 

I  stood  Ted  a  pint,  and  arter  he  'ad  finished 
it  I  told  'im  just  how  things  was.  I  didn't  say 
anything  about  the  watch  and  chain,  because 
there  was  no  need  to,  and  when  we  came  out- 
side agin  I  'ad  engaged  an  assistant-watchman 
for  ninepence  a  night. 

"All  you've  got  to  do,"  I  ses,  "is  to  keep  me 
company.  You  needn't  turn  up  till  eight  o'clock 
of  a  night,  and  you  can  leave  'arf  an  hour  afore 
me  in  the  morning." 

"Right-o!"  ses  Ted.  "And  if  I  see  the 
ghost  I'll  make  it  wish  it  'ad  never  been  born." 

89 


Sam's  Ghost 

It  was  a  load  off  my  mind,  and  I  went  'ome 
and  ate.a  tea  that  made  my  missis  talk  about  the 
work'ouse,  and  orstritches  in  'uman  shape  wot 
would  eat  a  woman  out  of  'ouse  and  'ome  if  she 
would  let  'em. 

I  got  to  the  wharf  just  as  it  was  striking  six, 
and  at  a  quarter  to  seven  the  wicket  was  pushed 
open  gentle  and  the  ugly  'ead  of  Mr.  Joe  Peel 
was  shoved  inside. 

"Hullo!"  I  ses.     "Wot  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  save  your  life,"  he  ses,  in  a  sol- 
emn voice.  "You  was  within  a  inch  of  death 
last  night,  watchman." 

"Oh!"  I  ses,  careless-like.  "  'Ow  do  you 
know!" 

"The  ghost  o'  Sam  Bullet  told  me,"  ses  Joe. 
"Arter  it  'ad  chased  you  up  the  wharf  scream- 
ing for  'elp,  it  came  round  and  told  me  all 
about  it." 

"It  seems  fond  of  you,"  I  ses.  "I  wonder 
why?" 

"It  was  in  a  terrible  temper,"  ses  Joe,  "and 
its  face  was  awful  to  look  at.  'Tell  the  watch- 

90 


Sam's  Ghost 

man,'  it  ses,  'that  if  he  don't  give  you  the 
watch  and  chain  I  shall  appear  to  'im  agin 
and  kill  'im.'  " 

"All  right,"  I  ses,  looking  behind  me  to 
where  three  of  the  'ands  of  the  Daisy  was  sit- 
ting on  the  fo'c'sle  smoking.  "I've  got  plenty 
of  company  to-night." 

"Company  won't  save  you,"  ses  Joe.  "For 
the  last  time,  are  you  going  to  give  me  that 
watch  and  chain,  or  not?  Here's  your  fifteen 
bob." 

"No,"  I  ses;  "even  if  I  'ad  got  it  I  shouldn't 
give  it  to  you ;  and  it's  no  use  giving'  it  to  the 
ghost,  because,  being  made  of  air,  he  'asn't  got 
anywhere  to  put  it." 

"Very  good,"  ses  Joe,  giving  me  a  black 
look.  "I've  done  all  I  can  to  save  you,  but 
if  you  won't  listen  to  sense,  you  won't.  You'll 
see  Sam  Bullet  agin,  and  you'll  not  on'y  lose 
the  watch  and  chain  but  your  life  as  well." 

"All  right,"  I  ses,  "and  thank  you  kindly, 
but  I've  got  an  assistant,  as  it  'appens — a  man 
wot  wants  to  see  a  ghost." 


Sam's  Ghost 

"An* assistant?"  ses  Joe,  staring. 

"An  old  soldier,"  I  ses.  "A  man  wot  likes 
trouble  and  danger.  His  idea  is  to  shoot  the 
ghost  and  see  wot  'appens." 

"Shoot!"  ses  Joe.  "Shoot  a  pore  'armless 
ghost.  Does  he  want  to  be  'ung?  Ain't  it 
enough  for  a  pore  man  to  be  drownded,  but 
wot  you  must  try  and  shoot  'im  arterwards? 
Why,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  yourself. 
Where's  your  'art?" 

"It  won't  be  shot  if  it  don't  come  on  my 
wharf,"  I  ses.  "Though  I  don't  mind  if  it 
does  when  I've  got  somebody  with  me.  I  ain't 
afraid  of  anything  living,  and  I  don't  mind 
ghosts  when  there's  two  of  us.  Besides  which, 
the  noise  of  the  pistol  '11  wake  up  'arf  the 
river." 

"You  take  care  you  don't  get  woke  up,"  ses 
Joe,  'ardly  able  to  speak  for  temper. 

He  went  off  stamping,  and  grinding  'is  teeth, 
and  at  eight  o'clock  to  the  minute,  Ted  Dennis 
turned  up  with  'is  pistol  and  helped  me  take 
care  of  the  wharf.  Happy  as  a  skylark  'e  was, 

92 


Sam's  Ghost 

and  to  see  him  'iding  behind  a  barrel  with  his 
pistol  ready,  waiting  for  the  ghost,  a'most  made 
me  forget  the  expense  of  it  all. 

It  never  came  near  us  that  night,  and  Ted 
was  a  bit  disappointed  next  morning  as  he  took 
'is  ninepence  and  went  off.  Next  night  was 
the  same,  and  the  next,  and  then  Ted  gave  up 
hiding  on  the  wharf  for  it,  and  sat  and  snoozed 
in  the  office  instead. 

A  week  went  by,  and  then  another,  and  still 
there  was  no  sign  of  Sam  Bullet's  ghost,  or 
Joe  Peel,  and  every  morning  I  'ad  to  try  and 
work  up  a  smile  as  I  shelled  out  ninepence  for 
Ted.  It  nearly  ruined  me,  and,  worse  than 
that,  I  couldn't  explain  why  I  was  short  to  the 
missis.  Fust  of  all  she  asked  me  wot  I  was 
spending  it  on,  then  she  asked  me  who  I  was 
spending  it  on.  It  nearly  broke  up  my  'ome — 
she  did  smash  one  kitchen-chair  and  a  vase  off 
the  parlour  mantelpiece — but  I  wouldn't  tell 
'er,  and  then,  led  away  by  some  men  on  strike 
at  Smith's  wharf,  Ted  went  on  strike  for  a  bob 
a  night. 

93 


Sam's  Ghost 

That  was  arter  he  'ad  been  with  me  for 
three  weeks,  and  when  Saturday  came,  of 
course  I  was  more  short  than  ever,  and  people 
came  and  stood  at  their  doors  all  the  way  down 
our  street  to  listen  to  tlje  missis  taking  my 
character  away. 

I  stood  it  as  long  as  I  could,  and  then,  when 
'er  back  was  turned  for  'arf  a  moment,  I  slipped 
out.  While  she'd  been  talking  I'd  been  think- 
ing, and  it  came  to  me  clear  as  daylight  that 
there  was  no  need  for  me  to  sacrifice  myself 
any  longer  looking  arter  a  dead  man's  watch 
and  chain. 

I  didn't  know  exactly  where  Joe  Peel  lived, 
but  I  knew  the  part,  and  arter  peeping  into 
seven  public-' ouses  I  see  the  man  I  wanted 
sitting  by  'imself  in  a  little  bar.  I  walked  in 
quiet-like,  and  sat  down  opposite  'im. 

"Morning,"  I  ses. 

Joe  Peel  grunted. 

" 'Ave  one  with  me?"  I  ses. 

He  grunted  agin,  but  not  quite  so  fierce,  and 
I  fetched  the  two  pints  from  the  counter  and 
took  a  seat  alongside  of  'im. 
94 


Sam's  Ghost 

"I've  been  looking  for  you,"  I  ses. 

"Oh !"  he  ses,  looking  me  up  and  down  and 
all  over.  "Well,  you've  found  me  now." 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  ghost  of 
pore  Sam  Bullet,"  I  ses. 

Joe  Peel  put  'is  mug  down  sudden  and  looked 
at  me  fierce.  "Look  'ere!  Don't  you  come 
and  try  to  be  funny  with  me,"  he  ses.  "  'Cos 
I  won't  'ave  it." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  funny,"  I  ses.  "Wot  I 
want  to  know  is,  are  you  in  the  same  mind 
about  that  watch  and  chain  as  you  was  the  other 
day?" 

He  didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  speak  at  fust, 
but  arter  a  time  'e  gives  a  gasp.  "Wot's  the 
game?"  he  ses. 

"Wot  I  want  to  know  is,  if  I  give  you  that 
watch  and  chain  for  fifteen  bob,  will  that  keep 
the  ghost  from  'anging  round  my  wharf  agin?" 
I  ses. 

"Why,  o'  course,"  he  ses,  staring;  "but  you 
ain't  been  seeing  it  agin,  'ave  you?" 

"I've  not,  and  I  don't  want  to,"  I  ses.  "If 
95 


Sam's  Ghost 

it  wants  you  to  'ave  the  watch  and  chain,  give 
me  the  fifteen  bob,  and  it's  yours." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
couldn't  believe  'is  eyesight,  and  then  'e  puts 
his  'and  into  'is  trowsis-pocket  and  pulls  out 
one  shilling  and  fourpence,  'arf  a  clay-pipe,  and 
a  bit  o'  lead-pencil. 

"That's  all  I've  got  with  me,"  he  ses.  "I'll 
owe  you  the  rest.  You  ought  to  ha'  took  the 
fifteen  bob  when  I  'ad  it." 

There  was  no  'elp  for  it,  and  arter  making 
'im  swear  to  give  me  the  rest  o'  the  money 
when  'e  got  it,  and  that  I  shouldn't  see  the 
ghost  agin,  I  'anded  the  things  over  to  'im  and 
came  away.  He  came  to  the  door  to  see  me 
off,  and  if  ever  a  man  looked  puzzled,  'e  did. 
Pleased  at  the  same  time. 

It  was  a  load  off  of  my  mind.  My  con- 
science told  me  I'd  done  right,  and  arter  send- 
ing a  little  boy  with  a  note  to  Ted  Dennis  to 
tell  'im  not  to  come  any  more,  I  felt  'appier 
than  I  'ad  done  for  a  long  time.  When  I  got 
to  the  wharf  that  evening  it  seemed  like  a 
96 


Sam's  Ghost 

diff'rent  place,  and  I  was  whistling  and  smiling 
over  my  work  quite  in  my  old  way,  when  the 
young  policeman  passed. 

"Hullo !"  he  ses.  "  'Ave  you  seen  the  ghost 
agin?" 

"I  'ave  not,"  I  ses,  drawing  myself  up. 
"'Ave  you?" 

"No,1!  he  ses.     "We  missed  it." 

"Missed  it?"  I  ses,  staring  at  'im. 

"Yes,"  he  ses,  nodding.  "The  day  arter 
you  came  out  screaming,  and  cuddling  me  like 
a  frightened  baby,  it  shipped  as  A.B.  on  the 
barque  Ocean  King,  for  Valparaiso.  We 
missed  it  by  a  few  hours.  Next  time  you  see 
a  ghost,  knock  it  down  fust  and  go  and  cuddle 
the  police  arterwards." 


Bedridden 


Bedridden 

July  12,  1915. — Disquieting  rumours  to  the 
effect  that  epidemic  of  Billetitis  hitherto  con- 
fined to  the  north  of  King's  Road  shows  signs 
of  spreading. 

July  14. — Report  that  two  Inns  of  Court 
men  have  been  seen  peeping  over  my  gate. 

July  16. — Informed  that  soldier  of  agree- 
able appearance  and  charming  manners  re- 
quests interview  with  me.  Took  a  dose  of 
Phospherine  and  went.  Found  composite 
photograph  of  French,  Joffre,  and  Hinden- 
burg  waiting  for  me  in  the  hall.  Smiled  (he 
did,  I  mean)  and  gave  me  the  mutilated  form 
of  salute  reserved  for  civilians.  Introduced 
himself  as  Quartermaster-Sergeant  Beddem, 
and  stated  that  the  Inns  of  Court  O.T.C.  was 
going  under  canvas  next  week.  After  which 
he  gulped.  Meantime  could  I  take  in  a  billet. 
101 


Bedridden 

Questioned  as  to  what  day  the  corps  was  go- 
ing into  camp  said  that  he  believed  it  was  Mon- 
day, but  was  not  quite  sure — might  possibly 
be  Tuesday.  Swallowed  again  and  coughed  a 
little.  Accepted  billet  and  felt  completely  re- 
warded by  smile.  Q.M.S.  bade  me  good-bye, 
and  then  with  the  air  of  a  man  suddenly  re- 
membering something,  asked  me  whether  I 
could  take  two.  Excused  myself  and  inter- 
viewed my  C.O.  behind  the  dining-room  door. 
Came  back  and  accepted.  Q.M.S.  so  over- 
joyed (apparently)  that  he  fell  over  the 
scraper.  Seemed  to  jog  his  memory.  He 
paused,  and  gazing  in  absent  fashion  at  the 
topmost  rose  on  the  climber  in  the  porch,  asked 
whether  I  could  take  three !  Added  hopefully 
that  the  third  was  only  a  boy.  Excused  my- 
self. Heated  debate  with  C.O.  Subject: 
sheets.  Returned  with  me  to  explain  to  the 
Q.M.S.  He  smiled.  C.O.  accepted  at  once, 
and,  returning  smile,  expressed  regret  at  size 
and  position  of  bedrooms  available.  Q.M.S. 
went  off  swinging  cane  jauntily. 
1 02 


Bedridden 

July  17. — Billets  arrived.  Spoke  to  them 
about  next  Monday  and  canvas.  They  seemed 
surprised.  Strange  how  the  military  authori- 
ties decline  to  take  men  into  their  confidence 
merely  because  they  are  privates.  Let  them 
upstairs.  They  went  (for  first  and  last  time) 
on  tiptoe. 

July  18. — Saw  Q.M.S.  Beddem  in  the  town. 
Took  shelter  in  the  King's  Arms. 

Aug.  3. — Went  to  Cornwall. 

Aug.  31. — Returned.  Billets  received  me 
very  hospitably. 

Sept.  4. — Private  Budd,  electrical  engineer, 
dissatisfied  with  appearance  of  bell-push  in 
dining-room,  altered  it. 

Sept.  5. — Bells  out  of  order. 

Sept.  6. — Private  Merited,  also  an  electrical 
engineer,  helped  Private  Budd  to  repair  bells. 

Sept.  7. — Private  Budd  helped  Private 
Merited  to  repair  bells. 

Sept.  8.- — Privates  Budd  and  Merited  helped 
each  other  to  repair  bells. 
103 


Bedridden 

Sept.  9. — Sent  to  local  tradesman  to  put  my 
bells  in  order. 

Sept.  15.— Told  that  Q.M.S.  Beddem  wished 
to  see  me.  Saw  C.O.  first.  She  thought  he  had 
possibly  come  to  take  some  of  the  billets  away. 
Q.M.S.  met  my  approach  with  a  smile  that  re- 
minded me  vaguely  of  picture-postcards  I  had 
seen.  Awfully  sorry  to  trouble  me,  but  Private 
Montease,  just  back  from  three  weeks'  holiday 
with  bronchitis,  was  sleeping  in  the  wood-shed 
on  three  planks  and  a  tin-tack.  Beamed  at  me 
and  waited.  Went  and  bought  another  bed- 
stead. 

Sept.  16. — Private  Montease  and  a  cough 
entered  into  residence. 

Sept.  17,  11.45  p.m. — Maid  came  to  bed- 
room-door with  some  cough  lozenges  which  she 
asked  me  to  take  to  the  new  billet.  Took  them. 
Private  Montease  thanked  me,  but  said  he 
didn't  mind  coughing.  Said  it  was  an  heir- 
loom ;  Montease  cough,  known  in  highest  circles 
all  over  Scotland  since  time  of  Young  Pre- 
tender. 

104 


Bedridden 

Sept.  20. — Private  Montease  installed  in 
easy-chair  in  dining-room  with  touch  of  bron- 
chitis, looking  up  trains  to  Bournemouth. 

Sept.  21. — Private  Montease  in  bed  all  day. 
Cook  anxious  "to  do  her  bit"  rubbed  his  chest 
with  home-made  embrocation.  Believe  it  is 
same  stuff  she  rubs  chests  in  hall  with.  Smells 
the  same  anyway. 

Sept.  24. — Private  Montease,  complaining 
of  slight  rawness  of  chest,  but  otherwise  well, 
returned  to  duty. 

Oct.  5. — Cough  worse  again.  Private 
Montease  thinks  that  with  care  it  may  turn  to 
bronchitis.  Borrowed  an  A.B.C. 

Oct.  6. — Private  Montease  relates  uncanny 
experience.  Woke  up  with  feeling  of  suffoca- 
tion to  find  an  enormous  black-currant  and 
glycerine  jujube  wedged  in  his  gullet.  Never 
owned  such  a  thing  in  his  life.  Seems  to  be 
unaware  that  he  always  sleeps  with  his  mouth 
open. 

Nov.    14. — Private    Bowser,   youngest   and 
tallest  of  my  billets,  gazetted. 
105 


Bedridden 

Nov.  15,  10.35  a.m. — Private  Bowser  in  tip- 
top spirits  said  good-bye  to  us  all. 

10.45.— Told  that  Q.M.S.  Beddem  desired 
to  see  me.  Capitulated.  New  billet,  Private 
Early,  armed  to  the  teeth,  turned  up  in  the  even- 
ing. Said  that  he  was  a  Yorkshireman.  Said 
that  Yorkshire  was  the  finest  county  in  Eng- 
land, and  Yorkshiremen  the  finest  men  in  the 
world.  Stood  toying  with  his  bayonet  and 
waiting  for  contradiction. 

Jan.  5,  1916. — Standing  in  the  garden  just 
after  lunch  was  witness  to  startling  phenome- 
non. Q.M.S.  Beddem  came  towards  front-gate 
with  a  smile  so  expansive  that  gate  after  first 
trembling  violently  on  its  hinges  swung  open  of 
its  own  accord.  Q.M.S.,  with  smile  (sad), 
said  he  was  in  trouble.  Very  old  member  of 
the  Inns  of  Court,  Private  Keen,  had  re- 
joined, and  he  wanted  a  good  billet  for  him. 
Would  cheerfully  give  up  his  own  bed,  but  it 
wasn't  long  enough.  Not  to  be  outdone  in  hos- 
pitality by  my  own  gate  accepted  Private  Keen. 
Q.M.S.  digging  hole  in  my  path  with  toe  of 
106 


Bedridden 

right  boot,  and  for  first  and  only  time  manifest- 
ing signs  of  nervousness,  murmured  that  two* 
life-long  friends  of  Private  Keen's  had  rejoined 
with  him.  Known  as  the  Three  Inseparables. 

Where  they  were  to  sleep,  unless  I .  Fled 

to  house,  and  locking  myself  in  top-attic  watched 
Q.M.S.  from  window.  He  departed  with  bent 
head  and  swagger-cane  reversed. 

Jan  6. — Private  Keen  arrived.  Turned  out 
to  be  son  of  an  old  Chief  of  mine.  Resolved 
not  to  visit  the  sins  of  the  father  on  the  head  of 
a  child  six  feet  two  high  and  broad  in  pro- 
portion. 

Feb.  6. — Private  Keen  came  home  with  a 
temperature. 

Feb.  7. — M.O.  diagnosed  influenza.  Was 
afraid  it  would  spread. 

Feb.  8. — Warned  the  other  four  billets. 
They  seemed  amused.  Pointed  out  that  in- 
fluenza had  no  terrors  for  men  in  No.  2  Com- 
pany, who  were  doomed  to  weekly  night-ops, 
under  Major  Carryon. 

Feb.  9. — House  strangely  and  pleasantly 
107 


Bedridden 

quiet.  Went  to  see  how  Private  Keen  was  pro- 
gressing, and  found  the  other  four  billets  sitting 
in  a  row  on  his  bed  practising  deep-breathing 
exercises. 

Feb.  16. — Billets  on  night-ops,  until  late 
hour.  Spoke  in  highest  terms  of  Major  Cany- 
on's marching  powers — also  in  other  terms. 

March  3. — Waited  up  until  midnight  for 
Private  Merited,  who  had  gone  to  Slough  on 
his  motor-bike. 

March  4,  1.5  a.m. — Awakened  by  series  of 
explosions  from  over-worked,  or  badly-worked, 
motor-bike.  Put  head  out  of  window  and 
threw  key  to  Private  Merited.  He  seemed 
excited.  Said  he  had  been  chased  all  the  way 
from  Chesham  by  a  pink  rat  with  yellow 
spots.  Advised  him  to  go  to  bed.  Set  him  an 
example. 

1.10.  a.m. — Heard  somebody  in  the  pantry. 

2.10.  a.m. — Heard  Private  Merited  going 
upstairs  to  bed. 

2.16  a.m. — Heard  Private  Merited  still  go- 
ing upstairs  to  bed. 

108 


Bedridden 

2.20-3.15.  a.m. — Heard  Private  Merited 
getting  to  bed. 

Aprils,  12.30  a.m. — Town-hooter  announced 
Zeppelins  and  excited  soldier  called  up  my  bil- 
lets from  their  beds  to  go  and  frighten  them  off. 
Pleasant  to  see  superiority  of  billets  over  the 
hooter:  that  only  emitted  three  blasts. 

12.50  a.m. — Billets  returned  with  exception 
of  Private  Merited,  who  was  retained  for  sake 
of  his  motor-bike. 

9  a.m. — On  way  to  bath-room  ran  into  Priv- 
ate Merited,  who,  looking  very  glum  and  sleepy, 
inquired  whether  I  had  a  copy  of  the  Exchange 
and  Mart  in  the  house. 

10  p.m. — Overheard  billets  discussing  whe- 
ther it  was  worth  while  removing  boots  before 
going  to  bed  until  the  Zeppelin  scare  was  over. 
Joined  in  discussion. 

May  2. — Rumours  that  the  Inns  of  Court 
were  going  under  canvas.  Discredited  them. 

May  5. — Rumours  grow  stronger. 

May  6. — Billets  depressed.  Begin  to  think 
perhaps  there  is  something  in  rumours  after  all. 
109 


Bedridden 

May  9. — All  doubts  removed.  Tents  begin 
to  spring  up  with  the  suddenness  of  mushrooms 
in  fields  below  Berkhamsted  Place. 

May  18,  LIBERATION  DAY. — Bade  a  face- 
tious good-bye  to  my  billets;  response  lacking 
in  bonhomie. 

May  19. — House  delightfully  quiet.  Pre- 
sented caller  of  unkempt  appearance  at  back- 
door with  remains  of  pair  of  military  boots, 
three  empty  shaving-stick  tins,  and  a  couple  of 
partially  bald  tooth-brushes. 

May  21. — In  afternoon  went  round  and 
looked  at  camp.  Came  home  smiling,  and 
went  to  favourite  seat  in  garden  to  smoke.  Dis- 
covered Private  Early  lying  on  it  fast  asleep. 
Went  to  study.  Private  Merited  at  table  writ- 
ing long  and  well-reasoned  letter  to  his  tailor. 
As  he  said  he  could  never  write  properly  with 
anybody  else  in  the  room,  left  him  and  went  to 
bath-room.  Door  locked.  Peevish  but  famil- 
iar voice,  with  a  Scotch  accent,  asked  me  what 
I  wanted;  also  complained  of  temperature  of 
water. 

no 


Bedridden 

May  22. — After  comparing  notes  with  neigh- 
bours, feel  deeply  grateful  to  Q.M.S.  Beddem 
for  sending  me  the  best  six  men  in  the  corps. 

July  15. — Feel  glad  to  have  been  associated, 
however  remotely  and  humbly,  with  a  corps,  the 
names  of  whose  members  appear  on  the  Roll  of 
Honour  of  every  British  regiment. 


in 


The  Convert 


The  Convert 

MR.  PURNIP  took  the  arm  of  the  new 
recruit  and  hung  over  him  almost  ten- 
derly as  they  walked  along;  Mr.  Billing,  with  a 
look  of  conscious  virtue  on  his  jolly  face,  lis- 
tened with  much  satisfaction  to  his  friend's 
compliments. 

"It's  such  an  example,"  said  the  latter. 
"Now  we've  got  you  the  others  will  follow  like 
sheep.  You  will  be  a  bright  lamp  in  the  dark- 
ness." 

"Wot's  good  enough  for  me  ought  to  be 
good  enough  for  them,"  said  Mr.  Billing,  mod- 
estly. "They'd  better  not  let  me  catch " 

"H'sh!  H'shf"  breathed  Mr.  Purnip,  tilt- 
ing his  hat  and  wiping  his  bald,  benevolent  head. 

"I  forgot,"  said  the  other,  with  something 
like  a  sigh.  "No  more  fighting;  but  suppose 
somebody  hits  me?" 

"Turn  the  other  cheek,"  replied  Mr.  Purnip. 
"5 


The  Convert 

"They  won't  hit  that;  and  when  they  see  you 
standing  there  smiling  at  them " 

"After  being  hit?"  interrupted  Mr.  Billing. 

"After  being  hit,"  assented  the  other,  "they'll 
be  ashamed  of  themselves,  and  it'll  hurt  them 
more  than  if  you  struck  them." 

"Let's  'ope  so,"  said  the  convert;  "but  it  don't 
sound  reasonable.  I  can  hit  a  man  pretty  'ard. 
Not  that  I'm  bad-tempered,  mind  you;  a  bit 
quick,  p'r'aps.  And,  after  all,  a  good  smack  in 
the  jaw  saves  any  amount  of  argufying." 

Mr.  Purnip  smiled,  and,  as  they  walked 
along,  painted  a  glowing  picture  of  the  influ- 
ence to  be  wielded  by  a  first-class  fighting-man 
who  refused  to  fight.  It  was  a  rough  neigh- 
bourhood, and  he  recognized  with  sorrow  that 
more  respect  was  paid  to  a  heavy  fist  than  to  a 
noble  intellect  or  a  loving  heart. 

"And  you  combine  them  all,"  he  said,  patting 
his  companion's  arm. 

Mr.  Billing  smiled.  "You  ought  to  know 
best,"  he  said,  modestly. 

"You'll  be  surprised  to  find  how  easy  it  is," 
116 


The  Convert 

continued  Mr.  Purnip.  "You  will  go  from 
strength  to  strength.  Old  habits  will  disap- 
pear, and  you  will  hardly  know  you  have  lost 
them.  In  a  few  months'  time  you  will  proba- 
bly be  wondering  what  you  could'ever  have  seen 
in  beer,  for  example." 

"I  thought  you  said  you  didn't  want  me  to 
give  up  beer?"  said  the  other. 

"We  don't,"  said  Mr.  Purnip.  "I  mean  that 
as  you  grow  in  stature  you  will  simply  lose  the 
taste  for  it." 

Mr.  Billing  came  to  a  sudden  full  stop. 
"D'ye  mean  I  shall  lose  my  liking  for  a  drop  o' 
beer  without  being  able  to  help  myself?"  he  de- 
manded, in  an  anxious  voice. 

Mr.  Purnip  coughed. 

"Of  course,  it  doesn't  happen  in  every  case," 
he  said,  hastily. 

Mr.  Billing's  features  relaxed.  "Well,  let's 
'ope  I  shall  be  one  of  the  fortunate  ones,"  he 
said,  simply.  "I  can  put  up  with  a  good  deal, 
but  when  it  comes  to  beer " 

"We  shall  see,"  said  the  other,  smiling. 
"7 


The  Convert 

"We  don't  want  to  interfere  with  anybody's 
comfort;  we  want  to  make  them  happier,  that's 
all.  A  little  more  kindness  between  man  and 
man;  a  little  more  consideration  for  each  other; 
a  little  more  brightness  in  dull  lives." 

He  paused  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and, 
with  a  hearty  handshake,  went  off.  Mr.  Bil- 
ling, a  prey  to  somewhat  mixed  emotions,  con- 
tinued on  his  way  home.  The  little  knot  of 
earnest  men  and  women  who  had  settled  in  the 
district  to  spread  light  and  culture  had  been 
angling  for  him  for  some  time.  He  wondered, 
as  he  walked,  what  particular  bait  it  was  that 
had  done  the  mischief. 

"They've  got  me  at  last,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
opened  the  house-door  and  walked  into  his 
small  kitchen.  "I  couldn't  say  'no'  to  Mr. 
Purnip." 

"Wish  'em  joy,"  said  Mrs.  Billing,  briefly. 
"Did  you  wipe  your  boots?" 

Her  husband  turned  without  a  word,  and, 
retreating  to  the  mat,  executed  a  prolonged 
double-shuffle. 

118 


The  Convert 

"You  needn't  wear  it  out,"  said  the  surprised 
Mrs.  Billing. 

"We've  got  to  make  people  'appier,"  said 
her  husband,  seriously;  "be  kinder  to  'em,  and 
brighten  up  their  dull  lives  a  bit.  That's  wot 
Mr.  Purnip  says." 

"You'll  brighten  'em  up  all  right,"  declared 
Mrs.  Billing,  with  a  sniff.  "I  sha'n't  forget 
last  Tuesday  week — no,  not  if  I  live  to  be  a 
hundred.  You'd  ha'  brightened  up  the  police- 
station  if  I  'adn't  got  you  home  just  in  the  nick 
of  time." 

Her  husband,  who  was  by  this  time  busy 
under  the  scullery-tap,  made  no  reply.  He 
came  from  it  spluttering,  and,  seizing  a  small 
towel,  stood  in  the  door-way  burnishing  his  face 
and  regarding  his  wife  with  a  smile  which  Mr. 
Purnip  himself  could  not  have  surpassed.  He 
sat  down  to  supper,  and  between  bites  explained 
in  some  detail  the  lines  on  which  his  future  life 
was  to  be  run.  As  an  earnest  of  good  faith,  he 
consented,  after  a  short  struggle,  to  a  slip  of 
oil-cloth  for  the  passage ;  a  pair  of  vases  for  the 
119 


The  Convert 

front  room;  and  a  new  and  somewhat  expen- 
sive corn-cure  for  Mrs.  Billing. 

"And  let's  'ope  you  go  on  as  you've  begun," 
said  that  gratified  lady.  "There's  something 
in  old  Purnip  after  all.  I've  been  worrying 
you  for  months  for  that  oilcloth.  Are  you  go- 
ing to  help  me  wash  up  ?  Mr.  Purnip  would." 

Mr.  Billing  appeared  not  to  hear,  and,  tak- 
ing up  his  cap,  strolled  slowly  in  the  direction 
of  the  Blue  Lion.  It  was  a  beautiful  summer 
evening,  and  his  bosom  swelled  as  he  thought 
of  the  improvements  that  a  little  brotherliness 
might  effect  in  Elk  Street.  Engrossed  in  such 
ideas,  it  almost  hurt  him  to  find  that,  as  he  en- 
tered one  door  of  the  Blue  Lion,  two  gentle- 
men, forgetting  all  about  their  beer,  disappeared 
through  the  other. 

"Wot  'ave  they  run  away  like  that  for  ?"  he 
demanded,  looking  round.  "I  wouldn't  hurt 
'em." 

"Depends  on  wot  you  call  hurting,  Joe,"  said 
a  friend. 

Mr.  Billing  shook  his  head.  "They've  rib 
120 


The  Convert 

call  to  be  afraid  of  me,"  he  said,  gravely.     "I 
wouldn't  hurt  a  fly;  I've  got  a  new  'art." 

"A  new  wot?"  inquired  his  friend,  staring. 

"A  new  'art,"  repeated  the  other.  "I've 
given  up  fighting  and  swearing,  and  drinking 
too  much.  I'm  going  to  lead  a  new  life  and  do 
all  the  good  I  can;  I'm  going " 

"Glory!  Glory!"  ejaculated  a  long,  thin 
youth,  and,  making  a  dash  for  the  door,  disap- 
peared. 

"He'll  know  me  better  in  time,"  said  Mr. 
Billing.  "Why,  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly.  I  want 
to  do  good  to  people;  not  to  hurt  'em.  I'll 
have  a  pint,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  bar. 

"Not  here  you  won't,"  said  the  landlord, 
eyeing  him  coldly. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  astonished  Mr. 
Billing. 

"You've  had  all  you  ought  to  have  already," 
was  the  reply.  "And  there's  one  thing  I'll 
swear  to — you  ain't  had  it  'ere." 

"I   haven't  'ad  a  drop  pass  my  lips " 

began  the  outraged  Mr.  Billing. 
121 


The  Convert 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  other,  wearily,  as  he 
shifted  one  or  two  glasses  and  wiped  the  coun- 
ter; "I've  heard  it  all  before,  over  and  over 
again.  Mind  you,  I've  been  in  this  business 
thirty  years,  and  if  I  don't  know  when  a  man's 
had  his  whack,  and  a  drop  more,  nobody  does. 
You  get  off  'ome  and  ask  your  missis  to  make 
you  a  nice  cup  o'  good  strong  tea,  and  then  get 
up  to  bed  and  sleep  it  off." 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Billing,  with  cold  dig- 
nity, as  he  paused  at  the  door — "I  dare  say  I 
may  give  up  beer  altogether." 

He  stood  outside  pondering  over  the  unfore- 
seen difficulties  attendant  upon  his  new  career, 
moving  a  few  inches  to  one  side  as  Mr.  Ricketts, 
a  foe  of  long  standing,  came  towards  the  public- 
house,  and,  halting  a  yard  or  two  away,  eyed 
him  warily. 

"Come  along,"  said  Mr.  Billing,  speaking 
somewhat  loudly,  for  the  benefit  of  the  men 
in  the  bar;  "I  sha'n't  hurt  you;  my  fighting  days 


are  over." 


"Yes,  I  dessay,"  replied  the  other,  edging 
away. 

122 


The  Convert 

"It's  all  right,  Bill,"  said  a  mutual  friend, 
through  the  half-open  door;  "he's  got  a  new 
'art." 

Mr.  Ricketts  looked  perplexed.  "  'Art  dis- 
ease, d'ye  mean?"  he  inquired,  hopefully. 
"Can't  he  fight  no  more?" 

"A  new  'art,"  said  Mr.  Billing.  "It's  as 
strong  as  ever  it  was,  but  it's  changed — 
brother." 

"If  you  call  me  'brother'  agin  I'll  give  you 
something  for  yourself,  and  chance  it,"  said 
Mr.  Ricketts,  ferociously.  "I'm  a  pore  man, 
but  I've  got  my  pride." 

Mr.  Billing,  with  a  smile  charged  with  broth- 
erly love,  leaned  his  left  cheek  towards  him. 
"Hit  it,"  he  said,  gently. 

"Give  it  a  smack  and  run,  Bill,"  said  the  voice 
of  a  well-wisher  inside. 

"There'd  be  no  need  for  'im  to  run,"  said 
Mr.  Billing.  "I  wouldn't  hit  'im  back  for  any- 
thing. I  should  turn  the  other  cheek." 

"Whaffor?"  inquired  the  amazed  Mr.  Ric- 
ketts. 

123 


The  Convert 

"For  another  swipe,"  said  Mr.  Billing, 
radiantly. 

In  the  fraction  of  a  second  he  got  the  first, 
and  reeled  back  staggering.  The  onlookers 
from  the  bar  came  out  hastily.  Mr.  Ricketts, 
somewhat  pale,  stood  his  ground. 

"You  see,  I  don't  hit  you,"  said  Mr.  Billing, 
with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  a  smile. 

He  stood  rubbing  his  cheek  gently,  and,  re- 
membering Mr.  Purnip's  statements,  slowly, 
inch  by  inch,  turned  the  other  in  the  direction 
of  his  adversary.  The  circuit  was  still  incom- 
plete when  Mr.  Ricketts,  balancing  himself 
carefully,  fetched  it  a  smash  that  nearly  burst 
it.  Mr.  Billing,  somewhat  jarred  by  his  con- 
tact with  the  pavement,  rose  painfully  and 
confronted  him. 

"I've  only  got  two  cheeks,  mind,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

Mr.  Ricketts  sighed.  "I  wish  you'd  got  a 
blinking  dozen,"  he  said,  wistfully.  "Well,  so 
long.  Be  good." 

He  walked  into  the  Blue  Lion  absolutely 
124 


The  Convert 

free  from  that  sense  of  shame  which  Mr.  Pur- 
nip  had  predicted,  and,  accepting  a  pint  from 
an  admirer,  boasted  noisily  of  his  exploit.  Mr. 
Billing,  suffering  both  mentally  and  physically, 
walked  slowly  home  to  his  astonished  wife. 

"P'r'aps  he'll  be  ashamed  of  hisself  when  'e 
conies  to  think  it  over,"  he  murmured,  as  Mrs. 
Billing,  rendered  almost  perfect  by  practice, 
administered  first  aid. 

"I  s'pect  he's  crying  his  eyes  out,"  she  said, 
with  a  sniff.  "Tell  me  if  that  'urts." 

Mr.  Billing  told  her,  then,  suddenly  remem- 
bering himself,  issued  an  expurgated  edition. 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  next  man  that  'its  you," 
said  his  wife,  as  she  drew  back  and  regarded 
her  handiwork. 

"Well,  you  needn't  be,"  said  Mr.  Billing, 
with  dignity.  "It  would  take  more  than  a 
couple  o'  props  in  the  jaw  to  make  me  alter  my 
mind  when  I've  made  it  up.  You  ought  to 
know  that  by  this  time.  Hurry  up  and  finish. 
I  want  you  to  go  to  the  corner  and  fetch  me  a 
pot." 

125 


The  Convert 

"What,  ain't  you  going  out  agin?"  demanded 
his  astonished  wife. 

Mr.  Billing  shook  his  head.  "Somebody 
else  might  want  to  give  me  one,"  he  said,  re- 
signedly, "and  I've  'ad  about  all  I  want  to- 
night." 

His  face  was  still  painful  next  morning,  but 
as  he  sat  at  breakfast  in  the  small  kitchen  he 
was  able  to  refer  to  Mr.  Ricketts  in  terms  which 
were  an  eloquent  testimony  to  Mr.  Purnip's 
teaching.  Mrs.  Billing,  unable  to  contain  her- 
self, wandered  off  into  the  front  room  with  a 
duster. 

"Are  you  nearly  ready  to  go?"  she  inquired, 
returning  after  a  short  interval. 

"Five  minutes,"  said  Mr.  Billing,  nodding. 
I'll  just  light  my  pipe  and  then  I'm  off." 

"  'Cos  there's  two  or  three  waiting  outside 
for  you,"  added  his  wife. 

Mr.  Billing  rose.  "Ho,  is  there?"  he  said, 
grimly,  as  he  removed  his  coat  and  proceeded 
to  roll  up  his  shirt-sleeves.  "I'll  learn  'em. 

I'll  give  'em  something  to  wait  for.  I'll " 

126 


The  Convert 

His  voice  died  away  as  he  saw  the  triumph 
in  his  wife's  face,  and,  drawing  down  his 
sleeves  again,  he  took  up  his  coat  and  stood 
eyeing  her  in  genuine  perplexity. 

"Tell  'em  I've  gorn,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"And  what  about  telling  lies?"  demanded  his 
wife.  "What  would  your  Mr.  Purnip  say  to 
that?" 

"You  do  as  you're  told,"  exclaimed  the 
harassed  Mr.  Billing.  "I'm  not  going  to  tell 
'em;  it's  you." 

Mrs.  Billing  returned  to  the  parlour,  and, 
with  Mr.  Billing  lurking  in  the  background, 
busied  herself  over  a  china  flower-pot  that 
stood  in  the  window,  and  turned  an  anxious  eye 
upon  three  men  waiting  outside.  After  a  glance 
or  two  she  went  to  the  door. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  my  husband?"  she 
inquired. 

The  biggest  of  the  three  nodded.  "Yus," 
he  said,  shortly. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Billing,  "but  he  'ad 
to  go  early  this  morning.  Was  it  anything 
partikler?" 

127 


The  Convert 

"Corn?"  said  the  other,  in  disappointed 
tones.  "Well,  you  tell  'im  I'll  see  'im  later 
on." 

He  turned  away,  and,  followed  by  the  other 
two,  walked  slowly  up  the  road.  Mr.  Billing, 
after  waiting  till  the  coast  was  clear,  went  off 
in  the  other  direction. 

He  sought  counsel  of  his  friend  and  mentor 
that  afternoon,  and  stood  beaming  with  pride 
at  the  praise  lavished  upon  him.  Mr.  Purnip's 
co-workers  were  no  less  enthusiastic  than  their 
chief;  and  various  suggestions  were  made  to 
Mr.  Billing  as  to  his  behaviour  in  the  unlikely 
event  of  further  attacks  upon  his  noble  person. 

He  tried  to  remember  the  suggestions  in  the 
harassing  days  that  followed;  baiting  Joe  Bil- 
ling becoming  popular  as  a  pastime  from  which 
no  evil  results  need  be  feared.  It  was  credita- 
ble to  his  fellow-citizens  that  most  of  them  re- 
frained from  violence  with  a  man  who  declined 
to  hit  back,  but  as  a  butt  his  success  was  assured. 
The  night  when  a  gawky  lad  of  eighteen  drank 
up  his  beer,  and  then  invited  him  to  step  outside 
128 


The  Convert 

if  he  didn't  like  it,  dwelt  long  in  his  memory. 
And  Elk  Street  thrilled  one  evening  at  the  sight 
of  their  erstwhile  champion  flying  up  the  road 
hotly  pursued  by  a  foeman  half  his  size.  His 
explanation  to  his  indignant  wife  that,  having 
turned  the  other  cheek  the  night  before,  he  was 
in  no  mood  for  further  punishment,  was  re- 
ceived in  chilling  silence. 

"They'll  soon  get  tired  of  it,"  he  said,  hope- 
fully; "and  I  ain't  going  to  be  beat  by  a  lot  of 
chaps  wot  I  could  lick  with  one  'and  tied  behind 
me.  They'll  get  to  understand  in  time;  Mr. 
Purnip  says  so.  It's  a  pity  that  you  don't  try 
and  do  some  good  yourself." 

Mrs.  Billing  received  the  suggestion  with  a 
sniff ;  but  the  seed  was  sown.  She  thought  the 
matter  over  in  private,  and  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that,  if  her  husband  wished  her  to  partici- 
pate in  good  works,  it  was  not  for  her  to  deny 
him.  Hitherto  her  efforts  in  that  direction 
had  been  promptly  suppressed;  Mr.  Billing's 
idea  being  that  if  a  woman  looked  after  her 
home  and  her  husband  properly  there  should  be 
129 


The  Convert 

neither  time  nor  desire  for  anything  else.  His 
surprise  on  arriving  home  to  tea  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  finding  a  couple  of  hard-work- 
ing neighbours  devouring  his  substance,  almost 
deprived  him  of  speech. 

"Poor  things,"  said  his  wife,  after  the  guests 
had  gone;  "they  did  enjoy  it.  It's  cheered  'em 
up  wonderful.  You  and  Mr.  Purnip  are  quite 
right.  I  can  see  that  now.  You  can  tell  him 
that  it  was  you  what  put  it  into  my  'art." 

"Me?  Why,  I  never  dreamt  o'  such  a 
thing,"  declared  the  surprised  Mr.  Billing. 
"And  there's  other  ways  of  doing  good  besides 
asking  a  pack  of  old  women  in  to  tea." 

"I  know  there  is,"  said  his  wife.  "All  in 
good  time,"  she  added,  with  a  far-away  look 
in  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Billing  cleared  his  throat,  but  nothing 
came  of  it.  He  cleared  it  again. 

"I  couldn't  let  you  do  all  the  good,"  said  his 
wife,  hastily.  "It  wouldn't  be  fair.  I  must 
help." 

Mr.  Billing  lit  his  pipe  noisily,  and  then  took 
130 


The  Convert 

it  out  into  the  back-yard  and  sat  down  to  think 
over  the  situation.  The  ungenerous  idea  that 
his  wife  was  making  goodness  serve  her  own 
ends  was  the  first  that  occurred  to  him. 

His  suspicions  increased  with  time.  Mrs. 
Billing's  good  works  seemed  to  be  almost  en- 
tirely connected  with  hospitality.  True,  she 
had  entertained  Mr.  Purnip  and  one  of  the 
ladies  from  the  Settlement  to  tea,  but  that  only 
riveted  his  bonds  more  firmly.  Other  visitors 
included  his  sister-in-law,  for  whom  he  had  a 
great  distaste,  and  some  of  the  worst-behaved 
children  in  the  street. 

"It's  only  high  spirits,"  said  Mrs.  Billing; 
"all  children  are  like  that.  And  I  do  it  to  help 
the  mothers." 

"And  'cos  you  like  children,"  said  her  hus- 
band, preserving  his  good-humour  with  an 
effort. 

There  was  a  touch  of  monotony  about  the 
new  life,  and  the  good  deeds  that  accompanied 
it,  which,  to  a  man  of  ardent  temperament,  was 
apt  to  pall.  And  Elk  Street,  instead  of  giving 


him  the  credit  which  was  his  due,  preferred  to 
ascribe  the  change  in  his  behaviour  to  what  they 
called  being  ua  bit  barmy  on  the  crumpet." 

He  came  home  one  evening  somewhat  de- 
jected, brightening  up  as  he  stood  in  the  passage 
and  inhaled  the  ravishing  odours  from  the  kit- 
chen. Mrs.  Billing,  with  a  trace  of  nervous- 
ness somewhat  unaccountable  in  view  of  the 
excellent  quality  of  the  repast  provided,  poured 
him  out  a  glass  of  beer,  and  passed  flattering 
comment  upon  his  appearance. 

"Wot's  the  game?"  he  inquired. 

"Game?"  repeated  his  wife,  in  a  trembling 
voice.  "Nothing.  'Ow  do  you  find  that 
steak-pudding?  I  thought  of  giving  you  one 
every  Wednesday." 

Mr.  Billing  put  down  his  knife  and  fork  and 
sat  regarding  her  thoughtfully.  Then  he 
pushed  back  his  chair  suddenly,  and,  a  picture 
of  consternation  and  wrath,  held  up  his  hand 
for  silence. 

"\V-w-wot  is  it?"  he  demanded.     "A  cat?" 

Mrs.  Billing  made  no  reply,  and  her  husband 
132 


The  Convert 

sprang  to  his  feet  as  a  long,  thin  wailing 
sounded  through  the  house.  A  note  of  temper 
crept  into  it  and  strengthened  it. 

"Wot  is  it?"  demanded  Mr.  Billing  again. 

"It's — it's  Mrs.  Smith's  Charlie,"  stammered 
his  wife. 

"In — in  my  bedroom?"  exclaimed  her  hus- 
band, in  incredulous  accents.  "Wot's  it  doing 
there?" 

"I  took  it  for  the  night,"  said  his  wife 
hurriedly.  "Poor  thing,  what  with  the  others 
being  ill  she's  'ad  a  dreadful  time,  and  she  said 
if  I'd  take  Charlie  for  a  few — for  a  night,  she 
might  be  able  to  get  some  sleep." 

Mr.  Billing  choked.  "And  what  about  my 
sleep?"  he  shouted.  "Chuck  it  outside  at  once. 
D'ye  hear  me?" 

His  words  fell  on  empty  air,  his  wife  having 
already  sped  upstairs  to  pacify  Master  Smith 
by  a  rhythmical  and  monotonous  thumping  on 
the  back.  Also  she  lifted  up  a  thin  and  not 
particularly  sweet  voice  and  sang  to  him.  Mr. 
Billing,  finishing  his  supper  in  indignant  silence, 


The  Convert 

told  himself  grimly  that  he  was  "beginning  to 
have  enough  of  it." 

He  spent  the  evening  at  the  Charlton  Arms, 
and,  returning  late,  went  slowly  and  heavily  up 
to  bed.  In  the  light  of  a  shaded  candle  he  saw 
a  small,  objectionable-looking  infant  fast  asleep 
on  two  chairs  by  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"H'sh!"  said  his  wife,  in  a  thrilling  whisper. 
"He's  just  gone  off." 

"D'ye  mean  I  mustn't  open  my  mouth  in  my 
own  bedroom?"  demanded  the  indignant  man, 
loudly. 

"H'sh!"  said  his  wife  again. 

It  was  too  late.  Master  Smith,  opening  first 
one  eye  and  then  the  other,  finished  by  opening 
his  mouth.  The  noise  was  appalling. 

"H'sh!  H'sh!"  repeated  Mrs.  Billing,  as 
her  husband  began  to  add  to  the  noise.  "Don't 
wake  'im  right  up." 

"Right  up?"  repeated  the  astonished  man. 
"Right  up?  Why,  is  he  doing  this  in  'is  sleep  ?" 

He  subsided  into  silence,  and,  undressing 
with  stealthy  care,  crept  into  bed  and  lay  there, 
134 


The  Convert 

marvelling  at  his  self-control.  He  was  a  sound 
sleeper,  but  six  times  at  least  he  was  awakened 
by  Mrs.  Billing  slipping  out  of  bed — regardless 
of  draughts  to  her  liege  lord — and  marching  up 
and  down  the  room  with  the  visitor  in  her  arms. 
He  rose  in  the  morning  and  dressed  in  ominous 
silence. 

"I  'ope  he  didn't  disturb  you,"  said  his  wife, 
anxiously. 

"You've  done  it,"  replied  Mr.  Billing. 
"You've  upset  everything  now.  Since  I  joined 
the  Purnip  lot  everybody's  took  advantage  of 
me ;  now  I'm  going  to  get  some  of  my  own  back. 
You  wouldn't  ha'  dreamt  of  behaving  like  this 
a  few  weeks  ago." 

"Oh,  Joe!"  said  his  wife,  entreatingly;  "and 
everybody's  been  so  happy!" 

"Except  me,"  retorted  Joe  Billing.  "You 
come  down  and  get  my  breakfast  ready.  If  I 
start  early  I  shall  catch  Mr.  Bill  Ricketts  on  'is 
way  to  work.  And  mind,  if  I  find  that  steam- 
orgin  'ere  when  I  come  'ome  to-night  you'll  hear 
of  it." 

135 


The  Convert 

He  left  the  house  with  head  erect  and  the 
light  of  battle  in  his  eyes,  and,  meeting  Mr.  Ric- 
ketts  at  the  corner,  gave  that  justly  aggrieved 
gentleman  the  surprise  of  his  life.  Elk  Street 
thrilled  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Billing  had  broken 
out  again,  and  spoke  darkly  of  what  the  even- 
ing might  bring  forth.  Curious  eyes  followed 
his  progress  as  he  returned  home  from  work, 
and  a  little  later  on  the  news  was  spread  abroad 
that  he  was  out  and  paying  off  old  scores  with 
an  ardour  that  nothing  could  withstand. 

"And  wot  about  your  change  of  'art?"  de- 
manded one  indignant  matron,  as  her  husband 
reached  home  five  seconds  ahead  of  Mr.  Billing 
and  hid  in  the  scullery. 

"It's  changed  agin,"  said  Mr.  Billing,  simply. 

He  finished  the  evening  in  the  Blue  Lion, 
where  he  had  one  bar  almost  to  himself,  and, 
avoiding  his  wife's  reproachful  glance  when  he 
arrived  home,  procured  some  warm  water  and 
began  to  bathe  his  honourable  scars. 

"Mr.  Purnip  'as  been  round  with  another 
gentleman,"  said  his  wife. 
136 


The  Convert 

-  Mr.  Billing  said  "Oh!" 

"Very  much  upset  they  was,  and  'ope  you'll 
go  and  see  them,"  she  continued. 

Mr.  Billing  said  "Oh!"  again;  and,  after 
thinking  the  matter  over,  called  next  day  at  the 
Settlement  and  explained  his  position. 

"It's  all  right  for  gentlemen  like  you,"  he 
said  civilly.  "But  a  man  like  me  can't  call  his 
soul  'is  own — or  even  'is  bedroom.  Everybody 
takes  advantage  of  'im.  Nobody  ever  gives 
you  a  punch,  and,  as  for  putting  babies  in  your 
bedroom,  they  wouldn't  dream  of  it." 

He  left  amid  expressions  of  general  regret, 
turning  a  deaf  ear  to  all  suggestions  about  mak- 
ing another  start,  and  went  off  exulting  in  his 
freedom. 

His  one  trouble  was  Mr.  Purnip,  that  estima- 
ble gentleman,  who  seemed  to  have  a  weird  gift 
of  meeting  him  at  all  sorts  of  times  and  places, 
never  making  any  allusion  to  his  desertion,  but 
showing  quite  clearly  by  his  manner  that  he  still 
hoped  for  the  return  of  the  wanderer.  It  was 
awkward  for  a  man  of  sensitive  disposition, 
137 


The  Convert 

and  Mr.  Billing,  before  entering  a  street,  got 
into  the  habit  of  peering  round  the  corner  first. 

He  pulled  up  suddenly  one  evening  as  he  saw 
his  tenacious  friend,  accompanied  by  a  lady- 
member,  some  little  distance  ahead.  Then  he 
sprang  forward  with  fists  clenched  as  a  passer- 
by, after  scowling  at  Mr.  Purnip,  leaned  for- 
ward and  deliberately  blew  a  mouthful  of 
smoke  into  the  face  of  his  companion. 

Mr.  Billing  stopped  again  and  stood  gaping 
with  astonishment.  The  aggressor  was  getting 
up  from  the  pavement,  while  Mr.  Purnip,  in  an 
absolutely  correct  attitude,  stood  waiting  for 
him.  Mr.  Billing  in  a  glow  of  delight  edged 
forward,  and,  with  a  few  other  fortunates,  stood 
by  watching  one  of  the  best  fights  that  had  ever 
been  seen  in  the  district.  Mr.  Purnip's  foot- 
work was  excellent,  and  the  way  he  timed  his 
blows  made  Mr.  Billing's  eyes  moist  with  ad- 
miration. 

It  was  over  at  last.  The  aggressor  went 
limping  off,  and  Mr.  Purnip,  wiping  his  bald 
head,  picked  up  his  battered  and  dusty  hat  from 
138 


The  Convert 

the  roadway  and  brushed  it  on  his  sleeve.  He 
turned  with  a  start  and  a  blush  to  meet  the  de- 
lighted gaze  of  Mr.  Billing. 

"I'm  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  murmured, 
brokenly — "ashamed." 

"Ashamed!"  exclaimed  the  amazed  Mr.  Bill- 
ing. "Why,  a  pro  couldn't  ha'  done  better." 

"Such  an  awful  example,"  moaned  the  other. 
"All  my  good  work  here  thrown  away." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Billing, 
earnestly.  "As  soon  as  this  gets  about  you'll 
get  more  members  than  you  want  a'most.  I'm 
coming  back,  for  one." 

Mr.  Purnip  turned  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"I  understand  things  now,"  said  Mr.  Billing, 
nodding  sagely.  "Turning  the  other  cheek's 
all  right  so  long  as  you  don't  do  it  always.  If 
you  don't  let  'em  know  whether  you  are  going 
to  turn  the  other  cheek  or  knock  their  blessed 
heads  off,  it's  all  right.  'Arf  the  trouble  in  the 
world  is  caused  by  letting  people  know  too 
much." 


139 


Husbandry 


Husbandry 


DEALING  with  a  man,  said  the  night- 
watchman,  thoughtfully,  is  as  easy  as  a 
teetotaller  walking  along  a  nice  wide  pavement; 
dealing  with  a  woman  is  like  the  same  teeto- 
taller, arter  four  or  five  whiskies,  trying  to  get 
up  a  step  that  ain't  there.  If  a  man  can't  get 
'is  own  way  he  eases  'is  mind  with  a  little  nasty 
language,  and  then  forgets  all  about  it;  if  a 
woman  can't  get  'er  own  way  she  flies  into  a 
temper  and  reminds  you  of  something  you 
oughtn't  to  ha'  done  ten  years  ago.  Wot  a 
woman  would  do  whose  'usband  had  never  done 
anything  wrong  I  can't  think. 

I  remember  a  young  feller  telling  me  about 
a  row  he  'ad  with  'is  wife  once.  He  'adn't  been 
married  long  and  he  talked  as  if  the  way  she 
carried  on  was  unusual.  Fust  of  all,  he  said, 
she  spoke  to  'im  in  a  cooing  sort  o'  voice  and 
pulled  his  moustache,  then  when  he  wouldn't 
143 


Husbandry 

give  way  she  worked  herself  up  into  a  temper 
and  said  things  about  'is  sister.  Arter  which 
she  went  out  o'  the  room  and  banged  the 
door  so  hard  it  blew  down  a  vase  off  the 
fireplace.  Four  times  she  came  back  to  tell 
'im  other  things  she  'ad  thought  of,  and  then 
she  got  so  upset  she  'ad  to  go  up  to  bed  and 
lay  down  instead  of  getting  his  tea.  When 
that  didn't  do  no  good  she  refused  her  food, 
and  when  'e  took  her  up  toast  and  tea  she 
wouldn't  look  at  it.  Said  she  wanted  to  die. 
He  got  quite  uneasy  till  'e  came  'ome  the  next 
night  and  found  the  best  part  of  a  loaf  o'  bread, 
a  quarter  o'  butter,  and  a  couple  o'  chops  he  'ad 
got  in  for  'is  supper  had  gorn;  and  then  when 
he  said  'e  was  glad  she  'ad  got  'er  appetite  back 
she  turned  round  and  said  that  he  grudged  'er 
the  food  she  ate. 

And  no  woman  ever  owned  up  as  'ow  she 
was  wrong;  and  the  more  you  try  and  prove  it 
to  'em  the  louder  they  talk  about  something 
else.  I  know  wot  I'm  talking  about  because  a 
woman  made  a  mistake  about  me  once,  and 
144 


Husbandry 

though  she  was  proved  to  be  in  the  wrong,  and 
it  was  years  ago,  my  missus  shakes  her  'ead 
about  it  to  this  day. 

It  was  about  eight  years  arter  I  'ad  left  off 
going  to  sea  and  took  up  night-watching.  A 
beautiful  summer  evening  it  was,  and  I  was  sit- 
ting by  the  gate  smoking  a  pipe  till  it  should  be 
time  to  light  up,  when  I  noticed  a  woman  who 
'ad  just  passed  turn  back  and  stand  staring  at 
me.  I've  'ad  that  sort  o'  thing  before,  and  I 
went  on  smoking  and  looking  straight  in  front 
of  me.  Fat  middle-aged  woman  she  was,  wot 
'ad  lost  her  good  looks  and  found  others.  She 
stood  there  staring  and  staring,  and  by  and  by 
she  tries  a  little  cough. 

I  got  up  very  slow  then,  and,  arter  looking 
all  round  at  the  evening,  without  seeing  'er,  I 
was  just  going  to  step  inside  and  shut  the  wicket, 
when  she  came  closer. 

"Bill!"  she  ses,  in  a  choking  sort  o'  voice. 
"Bill!" 

I  gave  her  a  look  that  made  her  catch  'er 
breath,  and  I  was  just  stepping  through  the 


Husbandry 

wicket,  when  she  laid  hold  of  my  coat  and  tried 
to  hold  me  back. 

"Do  you  know  wot  you're  a-doing  of?"  I  ses, 
turning  on  her. 

"Oh,  Bill  dear,"  she  ses,  "don't  talk  to  me 
like  that.  Do  you  want  to  break  my  'art? 
Arter  all  these  years !" 

She  pulled  out  a  dirt-coloured  pocket-'anker- 
cher  and  stood  there  dabbing  her  eyes  with  it. 
One  eye  at  a  time  she  dabbed,  while  she  looked 
at  me  reproachful  with  the  other.  And  arter 
eight  dabs,  four  to  each  eye,  she  began  to  sob 
as  if  her  'art  would  break. 

"Go  away,"  I  ses,  very  slow.  "You  can't 
stand  making  that  noise  outside  my  wharf. 
Go  away  and  give  somebody  else  a  treat." 

Afore  she  could  say  anything  the  potman 
from  the  Tiger,  a  nasty  ginger-'aired  little  chap 
that  nobody  liked,  come  by  and  stopped  to  pat 
her  on  the  back. 

"There,  there,  don't  take  on,  mother,"  he 
ses.  "Wot's  he  been  a-doing  to  you?" 

"You  get  off  'ome,"  I  ses,  losing  my  temper. 
146 


Husbandry 

"Wot  d'ye  mean  trying  to  drag  me  into  it? 
I've  never  seen  the  woman  afore  in  my  life." 

"Oh,  Bill!"  ses  the  woman,  sobbing  louder 
than  ever.  "Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

"  'Ow  does  she  know  your  name,  then?" 
ses  the  little  beast  of  a  potman. 

I  didn't  answer  him.  I  might  have  told  'im 
that  there's  about  five  million  Bills  in  England, 
but  I  didn't.  I  stood  there  with  my  arms  fold- 
ed acrost  my  chest,  and  looked  at  him,  superior. 

"Where  'ave  you  been  all  this  long,  long 
time?"  she  ses,  between  her  sobs.  "Why  did 
you  leave  your  happy  'ome  and  your  children 
wot  loved  you?" 

The  potman  let  off  a  whistle  that  you  could 
have  'card  acrost  the  river,  and  as  for  me,  I 
thought  I  should  ha'  dropped.  To  have  a 
woman  standing  sobbing  and  taking  my  charac- 
ter away  like  that  was  a'most  more  than  I  could 
bear. 

"Did  he  run  away  from  you?"  ses  the  pot- 
man. 

"Ye-ye-yes,"  she  ses.  "He  went  off  on  a 
147 


Husbandry 

vy'ge  to  China  over  nine  years  ago,  and  that's 
the  last  I  saw  of  'im  till  to-night.  A  lady  friend 
o'  mine  thought  she  reckernized  'im  yesterday, 
and  told  me." 

"I  shouldn't  cry  over  'im,"  ses  the  potman, 
shaking  his  'ead:  "he  ain't  worth  it.  If  I  was 
you  I  should  just  give  'im  a  bang  or  two  over 
the  'ead  with  my  umberella,  and  then  give  'im 
in  charge." 

I  stepped  inside  the  wicket — backwards — 
and  then  I  slammed  it  in  their  faces,  and  put- 
ting the  key  in  my  pocket,  walked  up  the  wharf. 
I  knew  it  was  no  good  standing  out  there  argu- 
fying. I  felt  sorry  for  the  pore  thing  in  a 
way.  If  she  really  thought  I  was  her  'usband, 

and  she  'ad  lost  me I  put  one  or  two  things 

straight  and  then,  for  the  sake  of  distracting 
my  mind,  I  'ad  a  word  or  two  with  the  skipper 
of  the  John  Henry,  who  was  leaning  against 
the  side  of  his  ship,  smoking. 

"Wot's  that  tapping  noise?"  he  ses,  all  of  a 
sudden.  "'Ark!" 

I  knew  wot  it  was.  It  was  the  handle  of  that 
148 


Husbandry 

umberella  'ammering  on  the  gate.  I  went  cold 
all  over,  and  then  when  I  thought  that  the  pot- 
man was  most  likely  encouraging  'er  to  do  it  I 
began  to  boil. 

"Somebody  at  the  gate,"  ses  the  skipper. 

"Aye,  aye,"  I  ses.     "I  know  all  about  it." 

I  went  on  talking  until  at  last  the  skipper 
asked  me  whether  he  was  wandering  in  'is  mind, 
or  whether  I  was.  The  mate  came  up  from  the 
cabin  just  then,  and  o'  course  he  'ad  to  tell  me 
there  was  somebody  knocking  at  the  gate. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  open  it?"  ses  the  skipper, 
staring  at  me. 

"Let  'em  ring,"  I  ses,  off-hand. 

The  words  was  'ardly  out  of  my  mouth  afore 
they  did  ring,  and  if  they  'ad  been  selling  muf- 
fins they  couldn't  ha'  kept  it  up  harder.  And 
all  the  time  the  umberella  was  doing  rat-a-tat 
tats  on  the  gate,  while  a  voice — much  too  loud 
for  the  potman's — started  calling  out:  "Watch- 
man ahoy!" 

"They're  calling  you,  Bill,"  ses  the  skipper. 

"I  ain't  deaf,"  I  ses,  very  cold. 
149 


Husbandry 

"Well,  I  wish  I  was,"  ses  the  skipper.  "It's 
fair  making  my  ear  ache.  Why  the  blazes 
don't  you  do  your  dooty,  and  open  the  gate  ?" 

"You  mind  your  bisness  and  I'll  mind  mine," 
I  ses.  "I  know  wot  I'm  doing.  It's  just  some 
silly  fools  'aving  a  game  with  me,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  encourage  'em." 

"Game  with  you?"  ses  the  skipper.  "Ain't 
they  got  anything  better  than  that  to  play  with? 
Look  'ere,  if  you  don't  open  that  gate,  I  will." 

"It's  nothing  to  do  with  you,"  I  ses.  "You 
look  arter  your  ship  and  I'll  look  arter  my 
wharf.  See?  If  you  don't  like  the  noise,  go 
down  in  the  cabin  and  stick  your  'ead  in  a  bis- 
cuit-bag." 

To  my  surprise  he  took  the  mate  by  the  arm 
and  went,  and  I  was  just  thinking  wot  a  good 
thing  it  was  to  be  a  bit  firm  with  people  some- 
times, when  they  came  back  dressed  up  in  their 
coats  and  bowler-hats  and  climbed  on  to  the 
wharf. 

"Watchman!"  ses  the  skipper,  in  a  hoity- 
toity  sort  o'  voice,  "me  and  the  mate  is  going 
150 


Husbandry 

as  far  as  Aldgate  for  a  breath  o'  fresh  air. 
Open  the  gate." 

I  gave  him  a  look  that  might  ha'  melted  a 
'art  of  stone,  and  all  it  done  to  'im  was  to  make 
'im  laugh. 

"Hurry  up,"  he  ses.  "It  a'most  seems  to  me 
that  there's  somebody  ringing  the  bell,  and  you 
can  let  them  in  same  time  as  you  let  us  out.  Is 
it  the  bell,  or  is  it  my  fancy,  Joe?"  he  ses,  turn- 
ing to  the  mate. 

They  marched  on  in  front  of  me  with  their 
noses  cocked  in  the  air,  and  all  the  time  the 
noise  at  the  gate  got  worse  and  worse.  So  far 
as  I  could  make  out,  there  was  quite  a  crowd 
outside,  and  I  stood  there  with  the  key  in  the 
lock,  trembling  all  over.  Then  I  unlocked  it 
very  careful,  and  put  my  hand  on  the  skipper's 
arm. 

"Nip  out  quick,"  I  ses,  in  a  whisper. 

"I'm  in  no  hurry,"  ses  the  skipper.  "Here! 
Halloa,  wot's  up?" 

It  was  like  opening  the  door  at  a  theatre,  and 
the  fust  one  through  was  that  woman,  shoved 


Husbandry 

behind  by  the  potman.  Arter  'im  came  a  car- 
man, two  big  'ulking  brewers'  draymen,  a  little 
scrap  of  a  woman  with  'er  bonnet  cocked  over 
one  eye,  and  a  couple  of  dirty  little  boys. 

"Wot  is  it?"  ses  the  skipper,  shutting  the 
wicket  behind  'em.  "A  beanfeast?" 

"This  lady  wants  her  'usband,"  ses  the  pot- 
man, pointing  at  me.  "He  run  away  from  her 
nine  years  ago,  and  now  he  says  he  'as  never 
seen  'er  before.  He  ought  to  be  'ung." 

"Bill,"  ses  the  skipper,  shaking  his  silly  'ead 
at  me.  "I  can  'ardly  believe  it." 

"It's  all  a  pack  o'  silly  lies,"  I  ses,  firing  up. 
"She's  made  a  mistake." 

"She  made  a  mistake  when  she  married  you," 
ses  the  thin  little  woman.  "If  I  was  in  'er 
shoes  I'd  take  'old  of  you  and  tear  you  limb 
from  limb." 

"I  don't  want  to  hurt  'im,  ma'am,"  ses  the 
other  woman.  "I  on'y  want  him  to  come  'ome 
to  me  and  my  five.  Why,  he's  never  seen  the 
youngest,  little  Annie.  She's  as  like  'im  as  two 
peas." 

152 


Husbandry 

"Pore  little  devil,"  ses  the  carman. 

"Look  here!"  I  ses,  "you  clear  off.  All  of 
you.  'Ow  dare  you  come  on  to  my  wharf? 
If  you  aren't  gone  in  two  minutes  I'll  give  you 
all  in  charge." 

"Who  to?"  ses  one  of  the  draymen,  sticking 
his  face  into  mine.  "You  go  'ome  to  your  wife 
and  kids.  Go  on  now,  afore  I  put  up  my  'ands 
to  you." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk  to  'im,"  ses  the  pot- 
man, nodding  at  'em. 

They  all  began  to  talk  to  me  then  and  tell 
me  wot  I  was  to  do,  and  wot  they  would  do  if 
I  didn't.  I  couldn't  get  a  word  in  edgeways. 
When  I  reminded  the  mate  that  when  he  was 
up  in  London  'e  always  passed  himself  off  as  a 
single  man,  'e  wouldn't  listen;  and  when  I  asked 
the  skipper  whether  'is  pore  missus  was  blind, 
he  on'y  went  on  shouting  at  the  top  of  'is  voice. 
It  on'y  showed  me  'ow  anxious  most  people  are 
that  everybody  else  should  be  good. 

I  thought  they  was  never  going  to  stop,  and, 
if  it  'adn't  been  for  a  fit  of  coughing,  I  don't 
153 


Husbandry 

believe  that  the  scraggy  little  woman  could  ha' 
stopped.  Arter  one  o'  the  draymen  'ad  saved 
her  life  and  spoilt  'er  temper  by  patting  'er  on 
the  back  with  a  hand  the  size  of  a  leg  o'  mutton, 
the  carman  turned  to  me  and  told  me  to  tell  the 
truth,  if  it  choked  me. 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth,"  I  ses.  "She  ses 
I'm  her  'usband  and  I  say  I  ain't.  Ow's  she 
going  to  prove  it?  Why  should  you  believe 
her,  and  not  me?" 

"She's  got  a  truthful  face,"  ses  the  carman. 

"Look  here !"  ses  the  skipper,  speaking  very 
slow,  "I've  got  an  idea,  wot'll  settle  it  p'raps. 
You  get  outside,"  he  ses,  turning  sharp  on  the 
two  little  boys. 

One  o'  the  draymen  'elped  'em  to  go  out,  and 
arf  a  minute  arterwards  a  stone  came  over  the 
gate  and  cut  the  potman's  lip  open.  Boys  will 
be  boys. 

"Now!"    ses    the    skipper,    turning   to    the 
woman,  and  smiling  with  conceitedness.     "Had 
your  'usband  got  any  marks  on  'im?     Birth- 
mark, or  moles,  or  anything  of  that  sort?" 
154 


Husbandry 

"I'm  sure  he  is  my  'usband,"  ses  the  woman, 
dabbing  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  yes,"  ses  the  skipper,  "but  answer  my 
question.  If  you  can  tell  us  any  marks  your 
'usband  had,  we  can  take  Bill  down  into  my 
cabin  and " 

"You'll  do  WOT?"  I  ses,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"You  speak  when  you're  spoke  to,"  ses  the 
carman.  "It's  got  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"No,  he  ain't  got  no  birthmarks,"  ses  the 
woman,  speaking  very  slow — and  I  could  see 
she  was  afraid  of  making  a  mistake  and  losing 
me — "but  he's  got  tattoo  marks.  He's  got  a 
mermaid  tattooed  on  'im." 

"Where?"  ses  the  skipper,  a'most  jumping. 

I  'eld  my  breath.  Five  sailormen  out  of  ten 
have  been  tattooed  with  mermaids,  and  I  was 
one  of  'em.  When  she  spoke  agin  I  thought 
I  should  ha'  dropped. 

"On  'is  right  arm,"  she  ses,  "unless  he's  'ad 
it  rubbed  off." 

"You  can't  rub  out  tattoo  marks,"  ses  the 
skipper. 

155 


Husbandry 

They  all  stood  looking  at  me  as  if  they  was 
waiting  for  something.  I  folded  my  arms — 
tight — and  stared  back  at  'em. 

"If  you  ain't  this  lady's  'usband,"  ses  the 
skipper,  turning  to  me,  "you  can  take  off  your 
coat  and  prove  it." 

"And  if  you  don't  we'll  take  it  off  for  you," 
ses  the  carman,  coming  a  bit  closer. 

Arter  that  things  'appened  so  quick,  I  hardly 
knew  whether  I  was  standing  on  my  'ead  or  my 
heels.  Both,  I  think.  They  was  all  on  top  o' 
me  at  once,  and  the  next  thing  I  can  remember 
is  sitting  on  the  ground  in  my  shirt-sleeves 
listening  to  the  potman,  who  was  making  a 
fearful  fuss  because  somebody  'ad  bit  his  ear 
arf  off.  My  coat  was  ripped  up  the  back,  and 
one  of  the  draymen  was  holding  up  my  arm  and 
showing  them  all  the  mermaid,  while  the  other 
struck  matches  so  as  they  could  see  better." 

"That's  your  'usband  right  enough,"  he  ses 
to  the  woman.  "Take  'im." 

"P'raps  she'll  carry  'im  'ome,"  I  ses,  yery 
fierce  and  sarcastic. 

156 


Husbandry 

"And  we  don't  want  none  of  your  lip,"  ses 
the  carman,  who  was  in  a  bad  temper  because 
he  'ad  got  a  fearful  kick  on  the  shin  from  some- 
where. 

I  got  up  very  slow  and  began  to  put  my  coat 
on  again,  and  twice  I  'ad  to  tell  that  silly  woman 
that  when  I  wanted  her  'elp  I'd  let  'er  know. 
Then  I  'card  slow,  heavy  footsteps  in  the  road 
outside,  and,  afore  any  of  'em  could  stop  me,  I 
was  calling  for  the  police. 

I  don't  like  policemen  as  a  rule;  they're  too 
inquisitive,  but  when  the  wicket  was  pushed 
open  and  I  saw  a  face  with  a  helmet  on  it  peep- 
ing in,  I  felt  quite  a  liking  for  'em. 

"Wot's  up?"  ses  the  policeman,  staring  'ard 
at  my  little  party. 

They  all  started  telling  'im  at  once,  and  I 
should  think  if  the  potman  showed  him  'is  ear 
once  he  showed  it  to  'im  twenty  times.  He  lost 
his  temper  and  pushed  it  away  at  last,  and  the 
potman  gave  a  'owl  that  set  my  teeth  on  edge. 
I  waited  till  they  was  all  finished,  and  the  po- 
liceman trying  to  get  'is  hearing  back,  and  then 
157 


Husbandry 

I  spoke  up  in  a  quiet  way  and  told  'im  to  clear 
them  all  off  of  my  wharf. 

"They're  trespassing,"  I  ses,  "all  except  the 
skipper  and  mate  here.  They  belong  to  a  little 
wash-tub  that's  laying  alongside,  and  they're 
both  as  'armless  as  they  look." 

It's  wonderful  wot  a  uniform  will  do.  The 
policeman  just  jerked  his  'ead  and  said  "out- 
side," and  the  men  went  out  like  a  flock  of 
sheep.  The  on'y  man  that  said  a  word  was  the 
carman,  who  was  in  such  a  hurry  that  *e 
knocked  his  bad  shin  against  my  foot  as  *e 
went  by.  The  thin  little  woman  was  passed  out 
by  the  policeman  in  the  middle  of  a  speech  she 
was  making,  and  he  was  just  going  for  the 
other,  when  the  skipper  stopped  'im. 

"This  lady  is  coming  on  my  ship,"  he  ses, 
puffing  out  'is  chest. 

I  looked  at  'im,  and  then  I  turned  to  the 
policeman.  "So  long  as  she  goes  off  my  wharf, 
I  don't  mind  where  she  goes,"  I  ses.  "The 
skipper's  goings-on  'ave  got  nothing  to  do  with 


158 


Husbandry 

"Then  she  can  foller  him  'ome  in  the  morn- 
ing,"  ses  the   skipper.     "Good  night,   watch- 


man." 


Him  and  the  mate  'elped  the  silly  old  thing 
to  the  ship,  and,  arter  I  'ad  been  round  to  the 
Bear's  Head  and  fetched  a  pint  for  the  police- 
man, I  locked  up  and  sat  down  to  think  things 
out;  and  the  more  I  thought  the  worse  they 
seemed.  I've  'card  people  say  that  if  you  have 
a  clear  conscience  nothing  can  hurt  you.  They 
didn't  know  my  missus. 

I  got  up  at  last  and  walked  on  to  the  jetty, 
and  the  woman,  wot  was  sitting  on  the  deck  of 
the  John  Henry,  kept  calling  out:  "Bill!"  like 
a  sick  baa-lamb  crying  for  its  ma.  I  went  back, 
and  'ad  four  pints  at  the  Bear's  Head,  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  do  me  any  good,  and  at  last  I 
went  and  sat  down  in  the  office  to  wait  for 
morning. 

It  came  at  last,  a  lovely  morning  with  a  beau- 
tiful sunrise;  and  that  woman  sitting  up  wide 
awake,  waiting  to  foller  me  'ome.  When  I 
opened  the  gate  at  six  o'clock  she  was  there 
159 


Husbandry 

with  the  mate  and  the  skipper,  waiting,  and 
when  I  left  at  five  minutes  past  she  was  trotting 
along  beside  me. 

Twice  I  stopped  and  spoke  to  'er,  but  it  was 
no  good.  Other  people  stopped  too,  and  I  'ad 
to  move  on  agin;  and  every  step  was  bringing 
me  nearer  to  my  house  and  the  missus. 

I  turned  into  our  street,  arter  passing  it  three 
times,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  my  missus 
standing  on  the  doorstep  'aving  a  few  words 
with  the  lady  next  door.  Then  she  'appened 
to  look  up  and  see  us,  just  as  that  silly  woman 
was  trying  to  walk  arm-in-arm. 

Twice  I  knocked  her  'and  away,  and  then, 
right  afore  my  wife  and  the  party  next  door, 
she  put  her  arm  round  my  waist.  By  the  time 
I  got  to  the  'ouse  my  legs  was  trembling  so  I 
could  hardly  stand,  and  when  I  got  into  the 
passage  I  'ad  to  lean  up  against  the  wall  for  a 
bit. 

"Keep  'er  out,"  I  ses. 

"Wot  do  you  want?"  ses  my  missus,  trem- 
'160 


RIGHT  AFORE  MY   WIFE   AND  THE   PARTY  NEXT  DOOR  SHE   PUT  HER 
ARM  ROUND  MY  WAIST. 


Husbandry 

bling  with  passion.  "Wot  do  you  think  you're 
doing?" 

"I  want  my  'usband,  Bill,"  ses  the  woman. 

My  missus  put  her  'and  to  her  throat  and 
came  in  without  a  word,  and  the  woman  fol- 
lered  'er.  If  I  hadn't  kept  my  presence  o' 
mind  and  shut  the  door  two  or  three  more 
would  'ave  come  in  too. 

I  went  into  the  kitchen  about  ten  minutes 
arterwards  to  see  'ow  they  was  getting  on.  Be- 
sides which  they  was  both  calling  for  me. 

"Now  then!"  ses  my  missus,  who  was  lean- 
ing up  against  the  dresser  with  'er  arms  folded, 
"wot  'ave  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  walking 
in  as  bold  as  brass  with  this  hussy?" 

"Bill!"  ses  the  woman,  "did  you  hear  wot 
she  called  me  ?" 

She  spoke  to  me  like  that  afore  my  wife,  and 
in  two  minutes  they  was  at  it,  hammer  and 
tongs. 

Fust  of  all  they  spoke  about  each  other,  and 
then  my  missus  started  speaking  about  me. 
She's  got  a  better  memory  than  most  people, 
161 


Husbandry 

because  she  can  remember  things  that  never 
'appened,  and  every  time  I  coughed  shi  turned 
on  me  like  a  tiger. 

"And  as  for  you,"  she  ses,  turning  to  the 
woman,  "if  you  did  marry  'im  you  should  ha' 
made  sure  that  he  'adn't  got  a  wife  already." 

"He  married  me  fust,"  ses  the  woman. 

"When?"  ses  my  wife.  "Wot  was  the 
date?" 

"Wot  was  the  date  you  married  'im?"  ses 
the  other  one. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  like  a 
couple  o'  game-cocks,  and  I  could  see  as  plain 
as  a  pike-staff  'ow  frightened  both  of  'em  was 
o'  losing  me. 

"Look  here !"  I  ses  at  last,  to  my  missus, 
"talk  sense.  'Ow  could  I  be  married  to  'er? 
When  I  was  at  sea  I  was  at  sea,  and  when  I 
was  ashore  I  was  with  you." 

"Did  you  use  to  go  down  to  the  ship  to  see 
'im  off?"  ses  the  woman. 

"No,"  ses  my  wife.  "I'd  something  better 
to  do." 

162 


Husbandry 

"Neither  did  I,"  ses  the  woman.  "P'raps 
that's  where  we  both  made  a  mistake." 

"You  get  out  of  my  'ouse  I"  ses  my  missus, 
very  sudden.  "Go  on,  afore  I  put  you  out." 

"Not  without  my  Bill,"  ses  the  woman.  "If 
you  lay  a  finger  on  me  I'll  scream  the  house 
down." 

"You  brought  her  'ere,"  ses  my  wife,  turn- 
ing to  me,  "now  you  can  take  'er  away?" 

"I  didn't  bring  'er,"  I  ses.     "She  follered 


me." 


"Well,  she  can  foller  you  agin,"  she  ses. 
"Go  on !"  she  ses,  trembling  all  over.  "Git  out 
afore  I  start  on  you." 

I  was  in  such  a  temper  that  I  daren't  trust 
myself  to  stop.  I  just  gave  'er  one  look,  and 
then  I  drew  myself  up  and  went  out.  'Alf  the 
fools  in  our  street  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
'ouse,  'umming  like  bees,  but  I  took  no  notice. 
I  held  my  'ead  up  and  walked  through  them 
with  that  woman  trailing  arter  me. 

I  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that  I  went  on 
like  a  man  in  a  dream.  If  it  had  ha'  been  a 
163 


Husbandry 

dream  I  should  ha'  pushed  'er  under  an  omni- 
bus, but  you  can't  do  things  like  that  in  real 
life. 

"Penny  for  your  thoughts,  Bill,"  she  ses. 

I  didn't  answer  her. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?"  she  ses. 

"You  don't  know  wot  you're  asking  for,"  I 
ses. 

I  was  hungry  and  sleepy,  and  'ow  I  was  go- 
ing to  get  through  the  day  I  couldn't  think.  I 
went  into  a  pub  and  'ad  a  couple  o'  pints  o' 
stout  and  a  crust  o'  bread  and  cheese  for  brek- 
fuss.  I  don't  know  wot  she  'ad,  but  when  the 
barman  tried  to  take  for  it  out  o'  my  money,  I 
surprised  'im. 

We  walked  about  till  I  was  ready  to  drop. 
Then  we  got  to  Victoria  Park,  and  I  'ad  no 
sooner  got  on  to  the  grass  than  I  laid  down  and 
went  straight  off  to  sleep.  It  was  two  o'clock 
when  I  woke,  and,  arter  a  couple  o'  pork-pies 
and  a  pint  or  two,  I  sat  on  a  seat  in  the  Park 
smoking,  while  she  kep'  dabbing  'er  eyes  agin 
and  asking  me  to  come  'ome. 
164 


Husbandry 

At  five  o'clock  I  got  up  to  go  back  to  the 
wharf,  and,  taking  no  notice  of  'er,  I  walked 
into  the  street  and  jumped  on  a  'bus  that  was 
passing.  She  jumped  too,  and,  arter  the  con- 
ductor had  'elped  'er  up  off  of  'er  knees  and 
taken  her  arms  away  from  his  waist,  I'm  blest 
if  he  didn't  turn  on  me  and  ask  me  why  I  'adn't 
left  her  at  'ome. 

We  got  to  the  wharf  just  afore  six.  The 
John  Henry  'ad  gorn,  but  the  skipper  'ad  done 
all  the  'arm  he  could  afore  he  sailed,  and,  if  I 
'adn't  kept  my  temper,  I  should  ha'  murdered 
arf  a  dozen  of  'em. 

The  woman  wanted  to  come  on  to  the  wharf, 
but  I  'ad  a  word  or  two  with  one  o'  the  fore- 
men, who  owed  me  arf-a-dollar,  and  he  made 
that  all  right. 

"We  all  'ave  our  faults,  Bill,"  he  ses  as  'e 
went  out,  "and  I  suppose  she  was  better  look- 
ing once  upon  a  time  ?" 

I  didn't  answer  'im.  I  shut  the  wicket  arter 
'im,  quick,  and  turned  the  key,  and  then  I  went 
on  with  my  work.  For  a  long  time  everything 
165 


Husbandry 

was  as  quiet  as  the  grave,  and  then  there  came 
just  one  little  pull  at  the  bell.  Five  minutes 
arterwards  there  was  another. 

I  thought  it  was  that  woman,  but  I  'ad  to 
make  sure.  When  it  came  the  third  time  I 
crept  up  to  the  gate. 

"Halloa!"  I  ses.     "Who  is  it?" 

"Me,  darling,"  ses  a  voice  I  reckernized  as 
the  potman's.  "Your  missus  wants  to  come  in 
and  sit  down." 

I  could  'ear  several  people  talking,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  there  was  quite  a  crowd  out  there, 
and  by  and  by  that  bell  was  going  like  mad. 
Then  people  started  kicking  the  gate,  and 
shouting,  but  I  took  no  notice  until,  presently, 
it  left  off  all  of  a  sudden,  and  I  'card  a  loud 
voice  asking  what  it  was  all  about.  I  suppose 
there  was  about  fifty  of  'em  all  telling  it  at 
once,  and  then  there  was  the  sound  of  a  fist  on 
the  gate. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  ses. 

"Police,"  ses  the  voice. 

I  opened  the  wicket  then  and  looked  out.  A 
166 


Husbandry 

couple  o'  policemen  was  standing  by  the  gate 
and  arf  the  riff-raff  of  Wapping  behind  'em. 

"Wot's  all  this  about?"  ses  one  o'  the  po- 
licemen. 

I  shook  my  'ead.    "Ask  me  another,"  I  ses. 

"Your  missus  is  causing  a  disturbance,"  he 
ses. 

"She's  not  my  missus,"  I  ses;  "she's  a  com- 
plete stranger  to  me." 

"And  causing  a  crowd  to  collect  and  refus- 
ing to  go  away,"  ses  the  other  policeman. 

"That's  your  business,"  I  ses.  "It's  nothing 
to  do  with  me." 

They  talked  to  each  other  for  a  moment, 
and  then  they  spoke  to  the  woman.  I  didn't 
'ear  wot  she  said,  but  I  saw  her  shake  her  'ead, 
and  a'most  direckly  arterwards  she  was  march- 
ing away  between  the  two  policemen  with  the 
crowd  follering  and  advising  'er  where  to  kick 
'em. 

I  was  a  bit  worried  at  fust — not  about  her — 
and  then  I  began  to  think  that  p'raps  it  was  the 
best  thing  that  could  have  'appened. 
167. 


Husbandry 

I  went  'ome  in  the  morning  with  a  load  lifted 
off  my  mind;  but  I  'adn't  been  in  the  'ouse  two 
seconds  afore  my  missus  started  to  put  it  on 
agin.  Fust  of  all  she  asked  me  'ow  I  dared  to 
come  into  the  'ouse,  and  then  she  wanted  to 
know  wot  I  meant  by  leaving  her  at  'ome  and 
going  out  for  the  day  with  another  woman. 

"You  told  me  to,"  I  ses 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  ses,  trembling  with  temper. 
"You  always  do  wot  I  tell  you,  don't  you?  Al- 
ways 'ave,  especially  when  it's  anything  you 
like." 

She  fetched  a  bucket  o'  water  and  scrubbed 
the  kitchen  while  I  was  having  my  brekfuss,  but 
I  kept  my  eye  on  'er,  and,  the  moment  she  'ad 
finished,  I  did  the  perlite  and  emptied  the  bucket 
for  'er,  to  prevent  mistakes. 

I  read  about  the  case  in  the  Sunday  paper, 
and  I'm  thankful  to  say  my  name  wasn't  in  it. 
All  the  magistrate  done  was  to  make  'er  prom- 
ise that  she  wouldn't  do  it  again,  and  then  he 
let  'er  go.  I  should  ha'  felt  more  comfortable 
if  he  'ad  given  'er  five  years,  but,  as  it  turned 
168 


Husbandry 

out,  it  didn't  matter.  Her  'usband  happened  to 
read  it,  and,  whether  'e  was  tired  of  living 
alone,  or  whether  he  was  excited  by  'earing 
that  she  'ad  got  a  little  general  shop,  'e  went 
back  to  her. 

The  fust  I  knew  about  it  was  they  came  round 
to  the  wharf  to  see  me.  He  'ad  been  a  fine- 
looking  chap  in  'is  day,  and  even  then  'e  was 
enough  like  me  for  me  to  see  'ow  she  'ad  made 
the  mistake ;  and  all  the  time  she  was  telling  me 
Jow  it  'appened,  he  was  looking  me  up  and  down 
and  sniffing. 

"'Ave  you  got  a  cold?"  I  ses,  at  last. 

"Wot's  that  got  to  do  with  you?"  he  ses. 
"Wot  do  you  mean  by  walking  out  with  my 
wife?  That's  what  I've  come  to  talk  about." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  that  his  bad  lucl£ 
'ad  turned  'is  brain.  "You've  got  it  wrong," 
I  ses,  as  soon  as  I  could  speak.  "She  walked 
out  with  me." 

"Cos  she  thought  you  was  her  'usband,"  he 
ses,  "but  you  didn't  think  you  was  me,  did 
you?" 

"  'Course  I  didn't,"  I  ses. 
169 


Husbandry 

"Then  'ow  dare  you  walk  out  with  'er?"  he 
ses. 

"Look  'ere!"  I  ses.  "You  get  off  'ome  as 
quick  as  you  like.  I've  'ad  about  enough  of 
your  family.  Go  on,  hook  it." 

Afore  I  could  put  my  'ands  up  he  'it  me  hard 
in  the  mouth,  and  the  next  moment  we  was  at 
it  as  'ard  as  we  could  go.  Nearly  every  time  I 
hit  'im  he  wasn't  there,  and  every  time  'e  hit 
me  I  wished  I  hadn't  ha'  been.  When  I  said 
I  had  'ad  enough,  'e  contradicted  me  and  kept 
on,  but  he  got  tired  of  it  at  last,  and,  arter  tell- 
ing me  wot  he  would  do  if  I  ever  walked  'is 
wife  out  agin,  they  went  off  like  a  couple  o' 
love-birds. 

By  the  time  I  got  'ome  next  morning  my  eyes 
was  so  swelled  up  I  could  'ardly  see,  and  my 
nose  wouldn't  let  me  touch  it.  I  was  so  done 
up  I  could  'ardly  speak,  but  I  managed  to  tell 
my  missus  about  it  arter  I  had  'ad  a  cup  o'  tea. 
Judging  by  her  face  anybody  might  ha'  thought 
I  was  telling  'er  something  funny,  and,  when  I 
'ad  finished,  she  looks  up  at  the  ceiling  and  ses: 

"I  'ope  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  you,"  she  ses. 
170 


Family  Cares 


Family  Cares 

MR.  JERNSHAW,  who  was  taking  the 
opportunity  of  a  lull  in  business  to 
weigh  out  pound  packets  of  sugar,  knocked  his 
hands  together  and  stood  waiting  for  the  order 
of  the  tall  bronzed  man  who  had  just  entered 
the  shop — a  well-built  man  of  about  forty — 
who  was  regarding  him  with  blue  eyes  set  in 
quizzical  wrinkles. 

"What,  Harry  1"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jernshaw, 
in  response  to  the  wrinkles.  "Harry  Barrett!" 

"That's  me,"  said  the  other,  extending  his 
hand.  "The  rolling  stone  come  home  covered 
with  moss." 

Mr.  Jernshaw,  somewhat  excited,  shook 
hands,  and  led  the  way  into  the  little  parlour 
behind  the  shop. 

"Fifteen  years,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  sinking 
into  a  chair,  "and  the  old  place  hasn't  altered 
a  bit." 

173 


Family  Cares 

"Smithson  told  me  he  had  let  that  house  in 
Webb  Street  to  a  Barrett,"  said  the  grocer,  re- 
garding him,  "but  I  never  thought  of  you.  I 
suppose  you've  done  well,  then?" 

Mr.  Barrett  nodded.  "Can't  grumble,"  he 
said  modestly.  "I've  got  enough  to  live  on. 
Melbourne's  all  right,  but  I  thought  I'd  come 
home  for  the  evening  of  my  life." 

"Evening!"  repeated  his  friend. 

"Forty-three,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  gravely. 
"I'm  getting  on." 

"You  haven't  changed  much,"  said  the  gro- 
cer, passing  his  hand  through  his  spare  grey 
whiskers.  "Wait  till  you  have  a  wife  and  seven 
youngsters.  Why,  boots  alone " 

Mr.  Barrett  uttered  a  groan  intended  for 
sympathy.  "Perhaps  you  could  help  me  with 
the  furnishing,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I've  never 
had  a  place  of  my  own  before,  and  I  don't 
know  much  about  it." 

"Anything  I  can  do,"  said  his  friend.    "Bet- 
ter not  get  much  yet ;  you  might  marry,  and  my 
taste  mightn't  be  hers." 
174 


Family  Cares 

Mr.  Barrett  laughed.  "I'm  not  marrying," 
he  said,  with  conviction. 

"Seen  anything  of  Miss  Prentice  yet?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Jernshaw. 

"No,"  said  the  other,  with  a  slight  Sush. 
"Why?" 

"She's  still  single,"  said  the  grocer. 

"What  of  it?"  demanded  Mr.  Barrett,  with 
warmth.  "What  of  it?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw,  slowly. 
"Nothing;  only  I " 

"Well?"  said  the  other,  as  he  paused. 

"I — there  was  an  idea  that  you  went  to  Aus- 
tralia to — to  better  your  condition,"  murmured 
the  grocer.  "That — that  you  were  not  in  a 
position  to  marry — that " 

"Boy  and  girl  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Barrett, 
sharply.  "Why,  it's  fifteen  years  ago.  I  don't 
suppose  I  should  know  her  if  I  saw  her.  Is  her 
mother  alive?" 

"Rather!"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw,  with  empha- 
sis.   "Louisa  is  something  like  what  her  mother 
was  when  you  went  away." 
175 


Family  Cares 

Mr.  Barrett  shivered. 

"But  you'll  see  for  yourself,"  continued  the 
other.  "You'll  have  to  go  and  see  them. 
They'll  wonder  you  haven't  been  before." 

"Let  'em  wonder,"  said  the  embarrassed  Mr. 
Barrett.  "I  shall  go  and  see  all  my  old  friends 
in  their  turn;  casual-like.  You  might  let  'em 
hear  that  I've  been  to  see  you  before  seeing 
them,  and  then,  if  they're  thinking  any  non- 
sense, it'll  be  a  hint.  I'm  stopping  in  town  while 
the  house  is  being  decorated;  next  time  I  come 
down  I'll  call  and  see  somebody  else." 

"That'll  be  another  hint,"  assented  Mr. 
Jernshaw.  "Not  that  hints  are  much  good  to 
Mrs.  Prentice." 

"We'll  see,"  said  Mr.  Barrett. 

In  accordance  with  his  plan  his  return  to  his 
native  town  was  heralded  by  a  few  short  visits 
at  respectable  intervals.  A  sort  of  human  but- 
terfly, he  streaked  rapidly  across  one  or  two 
streets,  alighted  for  half  an  hour  to  resume  an 
old  friendship,  and  then  disappeared  again. 
Having  given  at  least  half-a-dozen  hints  of  this 
176 


Family  Cares 

kind,  he  made  a  final  return  to  Ramsbury  and 
entered  into  occupation  of  his  new  house. 

"It  does  you  credit,  Jernshaw,"  he  said, 
gratefully.  "I  should  have  made  a  rare  mess 
of  it  without  your  help." 

"It  looks  very  nice,"  admitted  his  friend. 
"Too  nice." 

"That's  all  nonsense,"  said  the  owner,  irri- 
tably. 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw.  "I  don't 
know  the  sex,  then,  that's  all.  If  you  think  that 
you're  going  to  keep  a  nice  house  like  this  all 
to  yourself,  you're  mistaken.  It's  a  home;  and 
where  there's  a  home  a  woman  comes  in,  some- 
how." 

Mr.  Barrett  grunted  his  disbelief. 

"I  give  you  four  days,"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Prentice  and  her 
daughter  cam?  on  the  fifth.  Mr.  Barrett,  who 
was  in  an  easy-chair,  wooing  slumber  with  a 
handkerchief  over  his  head,  heard  their  voices 
at  the  front  door  and  the  cordial  invitation  of 
177 


Family  Cares 

his  housekeeper.  They  entered  the  room  as  he 
sat  hastily  smoothing  his  rumpled  hair. 

"Good  afternoon,"  he  said,  shaking  hands. 

Mrs.  Prentice  returned  the  greeting  in  a  level 
voice,  and,  accepting  a  chair,  gazed  around  the 
room. 

"Nice  weather,"  said  Mr.  Barrett. 

"Very,"  said  Mrs.  Prentice. 

"It's — it's  quite  a  pleasure  to  see  you  again," 
said  Mr.  Barrett. 

"We  thought  we  should  have  seen  you  be- 
fore," said  Mrs.  Prentice,  "but  I  told  Louisa 
that  no  doubt  you  were  busy,  and  wanted  to 
surprise  her.  I  like  the  carpet;  don't  you, 
Louisa?" 

Miss  Prentice  said  she  did. 

"The  room  is  nice  and  airy,"  said  Mrs.  Pren- 
tice, "but  it's  a  pity  you  didn't  come  to  me  be- 
fore deciding.  I  could  have  told  you  of  a  better 
house  for  the  same  money." 

"I'm  very  well  satisfied  with  this,"  said  Mr. 
Barrett.  "It's  all  /  want." 

"It's  well  enough,"  conceded  Mrs.  Prentice, 
178 


Family  Cares 

amiably.     "And  how  have  you  been  all  these 
years?" 

Mr.  Barrett,  with  some  haste,  replied  that 
his  health  and  spirits  had  been  excellent. 

"You  look  well,"  said  Mrs.  Prentice. 
"Neither  of  you  seem  to  have  changed  much," 
she  added,  looking  from  him  to  her  daughter. 
"And  I  think  you  did  quite  well  not  to  write.  I 
think  it  was  much  the  best." 

Mr.  Barrett  sought  for  a  question :  a  natural, 
artless  question,  that  would  neutralize  the  hide- 
ous suggestion  conveyed  by  this  remark,  but  it 
eluded  him.  He  sat  and  gazed  in  growing  fear 
at  Mrs.  Prentice. 

"I — I  couldn't  write,"  he  said  at  last,  in  des- 
peration; "my  wife " 

"Your  what?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Prentice, 
loudly. 

"Wife,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  suddenly  calm 
now  that  he  had  taken  the  plunge.  "She 
wouldn't  have  liked  it." 

Mrs.  Prentice  tried  to  control  her  voice.  "I 
never  heard  you  were  married!"  she  gasped. 
"Why  isn't  she  here?" 

179 


Family  Cares 

"We  couldn't  agree,"  said  the  veracious  Mr. 
Barrett.  "She  was  very  difficult;  so  I  left  the 
children  with  her  and " 

"Chil "  said  Mrs.  Prentice,  and  paused, 

unable  to  complete  the  word. 

"Five,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  in  tones  of  resig- 
nation. "It  was  rather  a  wrench,  parting  with 
them,  especially  the  baby.  He  got  his  first  tooth 
the  day  I  left." 

The  information  fell  on  deaf  ears.  Mrs. 
Prentice,  for  once  in  her  life  thoroughly  at  a 
loss,  sat  trying  to  collect  her  scattered  faculties. 
She  had  come  out  prepared  for  a  hard  job, 
but  not  an  impossible  one.  All  things  con- 
sidered, she  took  her  defeat  with  admirable 
composure. 

"I  have  no  doubt  it  is  much  the  best  thing 
for  the  children  to  remain  with  their  mother," 
she  said,  rising. 

"Much  the  best,"  agreed  Mr.  Barrett. 

"Whatever  she  is  like,"  continued  the  old 
lady.  "Are  you  ready,  Louisa?" 

Mr.  Barrett  followed  them  to  the  door,  and 
180 


Family  Cares 

then,  returning  to  the  room,  watched,  with  glad 
eyes,  their  progress  up  the  street. 

"Wonder  whether  she'll  keep  it  to  herself?" 
he  muttered. 

His  doubts  were  set  at  rest  next  day.  All 
Ramsbury  knew  by  then  of  his  matrimonial 
complications,  and  seemed  anxious  to  talk  about 
them;  complications  which  tended  to  increase 
until  Mr.  Barrett  wrote  out  a  list  of  his  chil- 
dren's names  and  ages  and  learnt  it  off  by 
heart. 

Relieved  of  the  attentions  of  the  Prentice 
family,  he  walked  the  streets  a  free  man;  and 
it  was  counted  to  him  for  righteousness  that  he 
never  said  a  hard  word  about  his  wife.  She  had 
her  faults,  he  said,  but  they  were  many  thou- 
sand miles  away,  and  he  preferred  to  forget 
them.  And  he  added,  with  some  truth,  that  he 
owed  her  a  good  deal. 

For  a  few  months  he  had  no  reason  to  alter 

his  opinion.     Thanks  to  his  presence  of  mind, 

the  Prentice   family  had  no  terrors  for  him. 

Heart-whole  and  fancy  free,  he  led  the  easy  life 

181 


Family  Cares 

of  a  man  of  leisure,  a  condition  of  things  sud- 
denly upset  by  the  arrival  of  Miss  Grace  Lind- 
say to  take  up  a  post  at  the  elementary  school. 
Mr.  Barrett  succumbed  almost  at  once,  and, 
after  a  few  encounters  in  the  street  and  meet- 
ings at  mutual  friends',  went  to  unbosom  him- 
self to  Mr.  Jernshaw. 

"What  has  she  got  to  do  with  you?"  de- 
manded that  gentleman. 

"I — I'm  rather  struck  with  her,"  said  Mr. 
Barrett. 

"Struck  with  her?"  repeated  his  friend, 
sharply.  "I'm  surprised  at  you.  You've  no 
business  to  think  of  such  things." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Mr.  Barrett,  in 
tones  that  were  sharper  still. 

"Why  not?"  repeated  the  other.  "Have  you 
forgotten  your  wife  and  children?" 

Mr.  Barrett,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  had  for- 
gotten, fell  back  in  his  chair  and  sat  gazing  at 
him,  open-mouthed. 

"You're  in  a  false  position — in  a  way,"  said 
Mr.  Jernshaw,  sternly. 

182 


Family  Cares 

"False  is  no  name  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Barrett, 
huskily.  "What  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"Do?"  repeated  the  other,  staring  at  him. 
"Nothing!  Unless,  perhaps,  you  send  for  your 
wife  and  children.  I  suppose,  in  any  case,  you 
would  have  to  have  the  little  ones  if  anything 
happened  to  her?" 

Mr.  Barrett  grinned  ruefully. 

"Think  it  over,"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw. 

"I  will,"  said  the  other,  heartily. 

He  walked  home  deep  in  thought.  He  was 
a  kindly  man,  and  he  spent  some  time  thinking 
out  the  easiest  death  for  Mrs.  Barrett.  He 
decided  at  last  upon  heart-disease,  and  a  fort- 
night later  all  Ramsbury  knew  of  the  letter 
from  Australia  conveying  the  mournful  intelli- 
gence. It  was  generally  agreed  that  the  mourn- 
ing and  the  general  behaviour  of  the  widower 
left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

"She's  at  peace  at  last,"  he  said,  solemnly, 
to  Jernshaw. 

"I  believe  you  killed  her,"  said  his  friend. 

Mr.  Barrett  started  violently. 
183 


Family  Cares 

"I  mean  your  leaving  broke  her  heart,"  ex- 
plained the  other. 

Mr.  Barrett  breathed  easily  again. 

"It's  your  duty  to  look  after  the  children," 
said  Jernshaw,  firmly.  "And  I'm  not  the  only 
one  that  thinks  so." 

"They  are  with  their  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother," said  Mr.  Barrett. 

Mr.  Jernshaw  sniffed. 

"And  four  uncles  and  five  aunts,"  added 
Mr.  Barrett,  triumphantly. 

"Think  how  they  would  brighten  up  your 
house,"  said  Mr.  Jernshaw. 

His  friend  shook  his  head.  "It  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  their  grandmother,"  he  said,  decidedly. 
"Besides,  Australia  wants  population." 

He  found  to  his  annoyance  that  Mr.  Jern- 
shaw's  statement  that  he  was  not  alone  in  his 
views  was  correct.  Public  opinion  seemed  to 
expect  the  arrival  of  the  children,  and  one  cit- 
izen even  went  so  far  as  to  recommend  a  girl 
he  knew,  as  nurse. 

Ramsbury  understood  at  last  that  his  de- 
184 


Family  Cares 

cision  was  final,  and,  observing  his  attentions  to 
the  new  schoolmistress,  flattered  itself  that  it 
had  discovered  the  reason.  It  is  possible  that 
Miss  Lindsay  shared  their  views,  but  if  so  she 
made  no  sign,  and  on  the  many  occasions  on 
which  she  met  Mr.  Barrett  on  her  way  to 
and  from  school  greeted  him  with  frank  cor- 
diality. Even  when  he  referred  to  his  loneli- 
ness, which  he  did  frequently,  she  made  no 
comment. 

He  went  into  half-mourning  at  the  end  of 
two  months,  and  a  month  later  bore  no  out- 
ward signs  of  his  loss.  Added  to  that  his  step 
was  springy  and  his  manner  youthful.  Miss 
Lindsay  was  twenty-eight,  and  he  persuaded 
himself  that,  sexes  considered,  there  was  no  dis- 
parity worth  mentioning. 

He  was  only  restrained  from  proposing  by 
a  question  of  etiquette.  Even  a  shilling  book 
on  the  science  failed  to  state  the  interval  that 
should  elapse  between  the  death  of  one  wife 
and  the  negotiations  for  another.  It  preferred 
instead  to  give  minute  instructions  with  regard 
185 


Family  Cares 

to  the  eating  of  asparagus.  In  this  dilemma  he 
consulted  Jernshaw. 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  that  gentle- 
man; "besides,  it  doesn't  matter." 

"Doesn't  matter?"  repeated  Mr.  Barrett. 
"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  think  Tillett  is  paying  her  atten- 
tions," was  the  reply.  "He's  ten  years  younger 
than  you  are,  and  a  bachelor.  A  girl  would 
naturally  prefer  him  to  a  middle-aged  widower 
with  five  children." 

"In  Australia,"  the  other  reminded  him. 

"Man  for  man,  bachelor  for  bachelor," 
said  Mr.  Jernshaw,  regarding  him,  "she  might 
prefer  you ;  as  things  are " 

"I  shall  ask  her,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  dog- 
gedly. "I  was  going  to  wait  a  bit  longer,  but 
if  there's  any  chance  of  her  wrecking  her  pros- 
pects for  life  by  marrying  that  tailor's  dummy 
it's  my  duty  to  risk  it — for  her  sake.  I've  seen 
him  talking  to  her  twice  myself,  but  I  never 
thought  he'd  dream  of  such  a  thing." 

Apprehension  and  indignation  kept  him 
186 


Family  Cares 

awake  half  the  night,  but  when  he  arose  next 
morning  it  was  with  the  firm  resolve  to  put  his 
fortune  to  the  test  that  day.  At  four  o'clock 
he  changed  his  neck-tie  for  the  third  time,  and 
at  ten  past  sallied  out  in  the  direction  of  the 
school.  He  met  Miss  Lindsay  just  coming  out, 
and,  after  a  well-deserved  compliment  to  the 
weather,  turned  and  walked  with  her. 

"I  was  hoping  to  meet  you,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

"Yes?"  said  the  girl. 

"I — I  have  been  feeling  rather  lonely  to- 
day," he  continued. 

"You  often  do,"  said  Miss  Lindsay,  guard- 
edly. 

"It  gets  worse  and  worse,"  said  Mr.  Barrett, 
sadly. 

"I  think  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you," 
said  the  girl,  in  a  soft  voice;  "you  have  got 
nothing  to  do  all  day,  and  you  live  alone,  except 
for  your  housekeeper." 

Mr.  Barrett  assented  with  some  eagerness, 
and  stole  a  hopeful  glance  at  her. 


Family  Cares 

"You — you  miss  something,"  continued  Miss 
Lindsay,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  with  ardour. 

"You  miss" — the  girl  made  an  effort — "you 
miss  the  footsteps  and  voices  of  your  little  chil- 
dren." 

Mr.  Barrett  stopped  suddenly  in  the  street, 
and  then,  with  a  jerk,  went  blindly  on. 

"I've  never  spoken  of  it  before  because  it's 
your  business,  not  mine,"  continued  the  girl. 
I  wouldn't  have  spoken  now,  but  when  you  re- 
ferred to  your  loneliness  I  thought  perhaps  you 
didn't  realize  the  cause  of  it." 

Mr.  Barrett  walked  on  in  silent  misery. 

"Poor  little  motherless  things!"  said  Miss 
Lindsay,  softly.  "Motherless  and  —  father- 
less." 

"Better  for  them,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  finding 
his  voice  at  last. 

"It  almost  looks  like  it,"  said  Miss  Lindsay, 
with  a  sigh. 

Mr.  Barrett  tried  to  think  clearly,  but  the 
circumstances  were  hardly  favourable.  "Sup- 
188 


Family  Cares 

pose,"  he  said,  speaking  very  slowly,  "suppose 
I  wanted  to  get  married?" 

Miss  Lindsay  started.  "What,  again?"  she 
said,  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"How  could  I  ask  a  girl  to  come  and  take 
over  five  children?" 

"No  woman  that  was  worth  having  would  let 
little  children  be  sacrificed  for  her  sake,"  said 
Miss  Lindsay,  decidedly. 

"Do  you  think  anybody  would  marry  me  with 
five  children?"  demanded  Mr.  Barrett. 

"She  might,"  said  the  girl,  edging  away  from 
him  a  little.  "It  depends  on  the  woman." 

"Would — you,  for  instance?"  said  Mr.  Bar- 
rett, desperately. 

Miss  Lindsay  shrank  still  farther  away.  "I 
don't  know;  it  would  depend  upon  circum- 
stances," she  murmured. 

"I  will  write  and  send  for  them,"  said  Mr. 
Barrett,  significantly. 

Miss  Lindsay  made  no  reply.  They  had 
arrived  at  her  gate  by  this  time,  and,  with  a 
hurried  handshake,  she  disappeared  indoors. 
189 


Family  Cares 

Mr.  Barrett,  somewhat  troubled  in  mind,  went 
home  to  tea. 

He  resolved,  after  a  little  natural  hesitation, 
to  drown  the  children,  and  reproached  himself 
bitterly  for  not  having  disposed  of  them  at  the 
same  time  as  their  mother.  Now  he  would 
have  to  go  through  another  period  of  mourning 
and  the  consequent  delay  in  pressing  his  suit. 
Moreover,  he  would  have  to  allow  a  decent 
interval  between  his  conversation  with  Miss 
Lindsay  and  their  untimely  end. 

The  news  of  the  catastrophe  arrived  two  or 
three  days  before  the  return  of  the  girl  from 
her  summer  holidays.  She  learnt  it  in  the  first 
half-hour  from  her  landlady,  and  sat  in  a  dazed 
condition  listening  to  a  description  of  the  grief- 
stricken  father  and  the  sympathy  extended  to 
him  by  his  fellow-citizens.  It  appeared  that 
nothing  had  passed  his  lips  for  two  days. 

"Shocking!"  said  Miss  Lindsay,  briefly. 
"Shocking!" 

An  instinctive  feeling  that  the  right  and 
proper  thing  to  do  was  to  nurse  his  grief  in  soli- 
190 


SHE  LEARNT  THE  NEWS  IN  THE   FIRST  HALF-HOUR  FROM  HER 
LANDLADY. 


Family  Cares 

tude  kept  Mr.  Barrett  out  of  her  way  for  nearly 
a  week.  When  she  did  meet  him  she  received 
a  limp  handshake  and  a  greeting  in  a  voice  from 
which  all  hope  seemed  to  have  departed. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of 
measured  gentleness. 

Mr.  Barrett,  in  his  hushed  voice,  thanked 
her. 

"I  am  all  alone  now,"  he  said,  pathetically. 
"There  is  nobody  now  to  care  whether  I  live 
or  die." 

Miss  Lindsay  did  not  contradict  him. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  she  inquired,  after 
they  had  gone  some  distance  in  silence. 

"They  were  out  in  a  sailing-boat,"  said  Mr. 
Barrett;  "the  boat  capsized  in  a  puff  of  wind, 
and  they  were  all  drowned." 

"Who  was  in  charge  of  them?"  inquired  the 
girl,  after  a  decent  interval. 

"Boatman,"  replied  the  other. 

"How  did  you  hear?" 

"I  had  a  letter  from  one  of  my  sisters-in-law, 
Charlotte,"  said  Mr.  Barrett.  "A  most  affect- 
191 


Family  Cares 

ing  letter.  Poor  Charlotte  was  like  a  second 
mother  to  them.  She'll  never  be  the  same 
woman  again.  Never!" 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  letter,"  said  Miss 
Lindsay,  musingly. 

Mr.  Barrett  suppressed  a  start.  "I  should 
like  to  show  it  to  you,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  afraid 
I  have  destroyed  it.  It  made  me  shudder  every 
time  I  looked  at  it." 

"It's  a  pity,"  said  the  girl,  dryly.  "I  should 
have  liked  to  see  it.  I've  got  my  own  idea 
about  the  matter.  Are  you  sure  she  was  very 
fond  of  them?" 

"She  lived  only  for  them,"  said  Mr.  Barrett, 
in  a  rapt  voice. 

"Exactly.  I  don't  believe  they  are  drowned 
at  all,"  said  Miss  Lindsay,  suddenly.  "I  be- 
lieve you  have  had  all  this  terrible  anguish  for 
nothing.  It's  too  cruel." 

Mr.  Barrett  stared  at  her  in  anxious  amaze- 
ment. 

"I  see  it  all  now,"  continued  the  girl.  "Their 
Aunt  Charlotte  was  devoted  to  them.  She  al- 
192 


Family  Cares 

ways  had  the  fear  that  some  day  you  would 
return  and  claim  them,  and  to  prevent  that  she 
invented  the  story  of  their  death." 

"Charlotte  is  the  most  truthful  woman  that 
ever  breathed,"  said  the  distressed  Mr.  Bar- 
rett. 

Miss  Lindsay  shook  her  head.  "You  are 
like  all  other  honourable,  truthful  people,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  gravely.  "You  can't  im- 
agine anybody  else  telling  a  falsehood.  I  don't 
believe  you  could  tell  one  if  you  tried." 

Mr.  Barrett  gazed  about  him  with  the  de- 
spairing look  of  a  drowning  mariner. 

"I'm  certain  I'm  right,"  continued  the  girl. 
"I  can  see  Charlotte  exulting  in  her  wicked- 
ness. WhyP9 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  Mr.  Barrett, 
greatly  worried. 

"I've  just  thought  of  it,"  said  Miss  Lindsay. 
"She's  told  you  that  your  children  are  drowned, 
and  she  has  probably  told  them  you  are  dead. 
A  woman  like  that  would  stick  at  nothing  to 
gain  her  ends," 

193 


Family  Cares 

"You  don't  know  Charlotte,"  said  Mr.  Bar- 
rett, feebly. 

"I  think  I  do,"  was  the  reply.  "However, 
we'll  make  sure.  I  suppose  you've  got  friends 
in  Melbourne  ?" 

"A  few,"  said  Mr.  Barrett,  guardedly. 

"Come  down  to  the  post-office  and  cable  to 
one  of  them." 

Mr.  Barrett  hesitated.  "I'll  write,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "It's  an  awkward  thing  to  cable;  and 
there's  no  hurry.  I'll  write  to  Jack  Adams,  I 
think." 

"It's  no  good  writing,"  said  Miss  Lindsay, 
firmly.  "You  ought  to  know  that." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  other. 

"Because,  you  foolish  man,"  said  the  girl, 
calmly,  "before  your  letter  got  there,  there 
would  be  one  from  Melbourne  saying  that  he 
had  been  choked  by  a  fish-bone,  or  died  of 
measles,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

Mr.  Barrett,  hardly  able  to  believe  his  ears, 
stopped  short  and  looked  at  her.  The  girl's 
eyes  were  moist  with  mirth  and  her  lips  trem- 
'94 


Family  Cares 

bling.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  took  her  wrist 
in  a  strong  grip. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  a  great  gasp 
of  relief.  "Phew!  At  one  time  I  thought  I 
had  lost  you." 

"By  heart-disease,  or  drowning?"  inquired 
Miss  Lindsay,  softly. 


195 


The  Winter  Offensive 


The  Winter  Offensive 

N.B. — Having  regard  to  the  eccentricities  of  the  Law 
of  Libel  it  must  be  distinctly  understood  that  the  following 
does  not  refer  to  the  distinguished  officer,  Lieut.  Troup 
Home,  of  the  Inns  of  Court.  Anybody  trying  to  cause 
mischief  between  a  civilian  of  eight  stone  and  a  soldier  of 
seventeen  by  a  statement  to  the  contrary  will  hear  from  my 
solicitors. 

Aug.  29,  1916. — We  returned  from  the  sea  to 
find  our  house  still  our  own,  and  the  military 
still  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  remains  of 
the  grass  in  the  fields  of  Berkhamsted  Place. 
As  in  previous  years,  it  was  impossible  to  go  in 
search  of  wild-flowers  without  stumbling  over 
sleeping  members  of  the  Inns  of  Court;  but  war 
is  war,  and  we  grumble  as  little  as  possible. 

Sept.  28. — Unpleasant  rumours  to  the  effect 
that  several  members  of  the  Inns  of  Court  had 
attributed  cases  of  curvature  of  the  spine  to 
sleeping  on  ground  that  had  been  insufficiently 
rolled.  Also  that  they  had  been  heard  to 
smack  their  lips  and  speak  darkly  of  feather- 
199 


The  Winter  Offensive 

beds.  Respected  neighbour  of  gloomy  disposi- 
tion said  that  if  Pharaoh  were  still  alive  he 
could  suggest  an  eleventh  plague  to  him  beside 
which  frogs  and  flies  were  an  afternoon's  di- 
version. 

Oct.  3. — Householders  of  Berkhamsted  busy 
mending  bedsteads  broken  by  last  year's  billets, 
and  buying  patent  taps  for  their  beer-barrels. 

Oct.  15. — Informed  that  a  representative  of 
the  Army  wished  to  see  me.  Instead  of  my  old 
friend  Q.M.S.  Beddem,  who  generally  returns 
to  life  at  this  time  of  year,  found  that  it  was  an 
officer  of  magnificent  presence  and  two  pips.  A 
fine  figure  of  a  man,  with  a  great  resemblance 
to  the  late  lamented  Bismarck,  minus  the  mous- 
tache and  the  three  hairs  on  the  top  of  the  head. 
Asked  him  to  be  seated.  He  selected  a  chair 
that  was  all  arms  and  legs  and  no  hips  to  speak 
of  and  crushed  himself  into  it.  After  which  he 
unfastened  his  belt  and  "swelled  wisibly  afore 
my  werry  eyes."  Said  that  his  name  was  True 
Born  and  asked  if  it  made  any  difference  to  me 
whether  I  had  one  officer  or  half-a-dozen  men 
200 


The  Winter  Offensive 

billeted  on  me.  Said  that  he  was  the  officer, 
and  that  as  the  rank-and-file  were  not  allowed 
to  pollute  the  same  atmosphere,  thought  I 
should  score.  After  a  mental  review  of  all  I 
could  remember  of  the  Weights  and  Measures 
Table,  accepted  him.  He  bade  a  lingering 
farewell  to  the  chair,  and  departed. 

Oct.  16. — Saw  Q.M.S.  Beddem  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road  and  gave  him  an  absolutely 
new  thrill  by  crossing  to  meet  him.  Asked  diffi- 
dently— as  diffidently  as  he  could,  that  is — how 
many  men  my  house  would  hold.  Replied  eight 
— or  ten  at  a  pinch.  He  gave  me  a  surprised 
and  beaming  smile  and  whipped  out  a  huge 
note-book.  Informed  him  with  as  much  regret 
as  I  could  put  into  a  voice  not  always  under  per- 
fect control,  that  I  had  already  got  an  officer. 
Q.M.S.,  favouring  me  with  a  look  very  appro- 
priate to  the  Devil's  Own,  turned  on  his  heel 
and  set  off  in  pursuit  of  a  lady-billetee,  pulling 
up  short  on  the  threshold  of  the  baby-linen  shop 
in  which  she  took  refuge.  Left  him  on  guard 
with  a  Casabianca-like  look  on  his  face. 
20 1 


The  Winter  Offensive 

Nov.  1. — Lieut.  True  Born  took  up  his  quar- 
ters with  us.  Gave  him  my  dressing-room  for 
bedchamber.  Was  awakened  several  times  in 
the  night  by  what  I  took  to  be  Zeppelins,  flying 
low. 

Nov.  2. — Lieut.  True  Born  offered  to  bet  me 
five  pounds  to  twenty  that  the  war  would  be 
over  by  1922. 

Nov.  3. — Offered  to  teach  me  auction-bridge. 

Nov.  4. — Asked  me  whether  I  could  play 
"shove  ha'penny." 

Nov.  10. — Lieut.  True  Born  gave  one  of  the 
regimental  horses  a  riding-lesson.  Came  home 
grumpy  and  went  to  bed  early. 

Nov.  13.  —  Another  riding-lesson.  Over- 
heard him  asking  one  of  the  maids  whether 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  water-bed  in  the 
house. 

Nov.  17. — Complained  bitterly  of  horse- 
copers.  Said  that  his  poor  mount  was  dis- 
covered to  be  suffering  from  saddle-soreness, 
broken  wind,  splints,  weak  hocks,  and  two 
bones  of  the  neck  out  of  place. 
202 


The  Winter  Offensive 

Dec.  9. — 7  p.m. — One  of  last  year's  billets, 
Private  Merited,  on  leave  from  a  gunnery 
course,  called  to  see  me  and  to  find  out  whether 
his  old  bed  had  improved  since  last  year.  Left 
his  motor-bike  in  the  garage,  and  the  smell  in 
front  of  the  dining-room  window. 

8  to  12  p.m.  —  Sat  with  Private  Merited, 
listening  to  Lieut.  True  Born  on  the  mistakes 
of  Wellington. 

12.5  a.m. — Rose  to  go  to  bed.  Was  about 
to  turn  out  gas  in  hall  when  I  discovered  the 
lieutenant  standing  with  his  face  to  the  wall 
playing  pat-a-cake  with  it.  Gave  him  three- 
parts  of  a  tumbler  of  brandy.  Said  he  felt 
better  and  went  upstairs.  Arrived  in  his  bed- 
room, he  looked  about  him  carefully,  and  then, 
with  a  superb  sweep  of  his  left  arm,  swept  the 
best  Chippendale  looking-glass  in  the  family 
off  the  dressing  table  and  dived  face  down- 
wards to  the  floor,  missing  death  and  the  corner 
of  the  chest  of  drawers  by  an  inch. 

12:15  a.m. — Rolled  him  on  to  his  back  and 
got  his  feet  on  the  bed.  They  fell  off  again  as 
203 


The  Winter  Offensive 

soon  as  they  were  cleaner  than  the  quilt.  The 
lieutenant,  startled  by  the  crash,  opened  his 
eyes  and  climbed  into  bed  unaided. 

12.20  a.m. — Sent  Private  Merited  for  the 
M.O.,  Captain  Geranium. 

12.25  a.m. — Mixed  a  dose  of  brandy  and 
castor-oil  in  a  tumbler.  Am  told  it  slips  down 
like  an  oyster  that  way — bad  oyster,  I  should 
think.  Lieut.  True  Born  jibbed.  Reminded 
him  that  England  expects  that  every  man  will 
take  his  castor-oil.  Reply  unprintable.  Apolo- 
gized a  moment  later.  Said  that  his  mind  was 
wandering  and  that  he  thought  he  was  a 
colonel.  Reassured  him. 

12.40  a.m. — Private  Merited  returned  with 
the  M.O.  Latter  nicely  dressed  in  musical- 
comedy  pyjamas  of  ravishing  hue,  and  great- 
coat, with  rose-tinted  feet  thrust  into  red  mor- 
occo slippers.  Held  consultation  and  explained 
my  treatment.  M.O.  much  impressed,  anxious 
to  know  whether  I  was  a  doctor.  Told  him 
"No,"  but  that  I  knew  all  the  ropes.  First 
give  patient  castor-oil,  then  diet  him  and  call 
204 


The  Winter  Offensive 

every  day  to  make  sure  that  he  doesn't  like  his 
food.  After  that,  if  he  shows  signs  of  getting 
well  too  soon,  give  him  a  tonic.  .  .  .  M.O. 
stuffy. 

Dec.  10. — M.O.  diagnosed  attack  as  due  to 
something  which  True  Born  believes  to  be  to- 
bacco, with  which  he  disinfects  the  house,  the 
mess-sheds,  and  the  streets  of  Berkhamsted. 

Dec.  11.  —  True  Born,  shorn  of  thirteen 
pipes  a  day  out  of  sixteen,  disparages  the  whole 
race  of  M.O.'s. 

Dec.  14. — He  obtains  leave  to  attend  wed- 
ding of  a  great-aunt  and  ransacks  London  for 
a  specialist  who  advocates  strong  tobacco. 

Dec.  15. —  He  classes  specialists  with 
M.O.'s.  Is  surprised  (and  apparently  disap- 
pointed) that,  so  far,  the  breaking  of  the  look- 
ing-glass has  brought  me  no  ill-luck.  Feel 
somewhat  uneasy  myself  until  glass  is  repaired 
by  local  cabinet-maker. 

Jan.  10,  1917. — Lieut.  True  Born  starts  to 
break  in  another  horse. 

Feb.  1. — Horse  broken. 
205 


The  Winter  Offensive 

March  3. — Running  short  of  tobacco,  go  to 
my  billet's  room  and  try  a  pipe  of  bis.  Take  all 
the  remedies  except  the  castor-oil. 

April  4,  8.30  a.m. — Awakened  by  an  infer- 
nal crash  and  discover  that  my  poor  looking- 
glass  is  in  pieces  again  on  the  floor.  True  Born 
explains  that  its  position,  between  the  open 
door  and  the  open  window,  was  too  much  for 
it.  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  Shall  believe 
to  my  dying  day  that  it  burst  in  a  frantic  but 
hopeless  attempt  to  tell  Lieut.  True  Born  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the 
truth. 

April  6. — The  lieutenant  watching  for  some 
sign  of  misfortune  to  me.  Says  that  I  can't 
break  a  mirror  twice  without  ill-luck  following 
it.  Me! 

April  9. — Lieut.  True  Born  comes  up  to  me 
with  a  face  full  of  conflicting  emotions.  "Your 
ill-luck  has  come  at  last,"  he  says  with  gloomy 
satisfaction.  "We  go  under  canvas  on  the 
23rd.  You  are  losing  me!" 


206 


The  Substitute 


The  Substitute 

THE  night  watchman  had  just  returned  to 
the  office  fire  after  leaving  it  to  attend  a 
ring  at  the  wharf  bell.  He  sat  for  some  time 
puffing  fiercely  at  his  pipe  and  breathing 
heavily. 

"Boys!"  he  said,  at  last.  "That's  the  third 
time  this  week,  and  yet  if  I  was  to  catch  one 
and  skin  'im  alive  I  suppose  I  should  get  into 
trouble  over  it.  Even  'is  own  father  and 
mother  would  make  a  fuss,  most  like.  Some 
people  have  boys,  and  other  people  'ave  the 
trouble  of  'em.  Our  street's  full  of  'em,  and 
the  way  they  carry  on  would  make  a  monkey- 
'ouse  ashamed  of  itself.  The  man  next  door 
to  me's  got  seven  of  'em,  and  when  I  spoke  to 
'im  friendly  about  it  over  a  pint  one  night,  he 
put  the  blame  on  'is  wife. 

"The  worst  boy  I  ever  knew  used  to  be  office- 
boy  in  this  'ere  office,  and  I  can't  understand 
209 


The  Substitute 

now  why  I  wasn't  'ung  for  him.  Undersized 
little  chap  he  was,  with  a  face  the  colour  o'  bad 
pie-crust,  and  two  little  black  eyes  like  shoe- 
buttons.  To  see  'im  with  his  little  white  cuffs, 
and  a  stand-up  collar,  and  a  little  black  bow, 
and  a  little  bowler-'at,  was  enough  to  make  a 
cat  laugh.  I  told  'im  so  one  day,  and  arter  that 
we  knew  where  we  was.  Both  of  us. 

"By  rights  he  ought  to  'ave  left  the  office 
at  six — just  my  time  for  coming  on.  As  it  was, 
he  used  to  stay  late,  purtending  to  work  'ard  so 
as  to  get  a  rise.  Arter  all  the  clerks  'ad  gorn 
'ome  he  used  to  sit  perched  up  on  a  stool  yards 
too  'igh  for  him,  with  one  eye  on  the  ledger  and 
the  other  looking  through  the  winder  at  me.  I 
remember  once  going  off  for  'arf  a  pint,  and 
when  I  come  back  I  found  'im  with  a  policeman, 
two  carmen,  and  all  the  hands  off  of  the  Maid 
Marian,  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  jetty,  wait- 
ing for  me  to  come  up.  He  said  that,  not  find- 
ing me  on  the  wharf,  'e  made  sure  that  I  must 
'ave  tumbled  overboard,  as  he  felt  certain  that 
I  wouldn't  neglect  my  dooty  while  there  was 
210 


The  Substitute 

breath  in  my  body;  but  'e  was  sorry  to  find  'e 
was  mistook.  He  stood  there  talking  like 
a  little  clergyman,  until  one  of  the  carmen 
knocked  his  'at  over  'is  eyes,  and  then  he  forgot 
'imself  for  a  bit. 

"Arter  that  I  used  to  wait  until  he  'ad  gorn 
afore  I  'ad  my  arf-pint.  I  didn't  want  my 
good  name  taken  away,  and  I  had  to  be  careful, 
and  many's  the  good  arf-pint  I  'ad  to  refuse 
because  that  little  imitation  monkey  was  sitting 
in  the  office  drawing  faces  on  'is  blotting-paper. 
But  sometimes  it  don't  matter  'ow  careful  you 
are,  you  make  a  mistake. 

"There  was  a  little  steamer,  called  the 
Eastern  Monarch,  used  to  come  up  here  in 
them  days,  once  a  week.  Fat  little  tub  she  was, 
with  a  crew  o'  fattish  old  men,  and  a  skipper 
that  I  didn't  like.  He'd  been  in  the  coasting 
trade  all  'is  life,  while  I've  knocked  about  all 
over  the  world,  but  to  hear  'im  talk  you'd  think 
he  knew  more  about  things  than  I  did. 

"  'Eddication,  Bill,'  he  ses  one  evening, 
'that's  the  thing!  You  can't  argufy  without 

211 


The  Substitute 

it;  you  only  talk  foolish,  like  you  are  doing 
now.' 

"  'There's  eddication  and  there's  common 
sense,'  I  ses.  'Some  people  'as  one  and  some 
people  'as  the  other.  Give  me  common  sense.' 

"  'That's  wot  you  want,'  he  ses,  nodding. 

"  'And,  o'  course,'  I  ses,  looking  at  'im, 
'there's  some  people  'asn't  got  either  one  or 
the  other.' 

"The  office-boy  came  out  of  the  office  afore 
he  could  think  of  an  answer,  and  the  pair  of  'em 
stood  there  talking  to  show  off  their  cleverness, 
till  their  tongues  ached.  I  took  up  my  broom 
and  went  on  sweeping,  and  they  was  so  busy 
talking  long  words  they  didn't  know  the  mean- 
ing of  to  each  other  that  they  was  arf  choked 
with  dust  afore  they  noticed  it.  When  they  did 
notice  it  they  left  off  using  long  words,  and  the 
skipper  tried  to  hurt  my  feelings  with  a  few 
short  ones  'e  knew. 

'  'It's  no  good  wasting  your  breath  on  'im,' 
ses  the  boy.  'You  might  as  well  talk  to  a  beer- 
barrel.' 

212 


The  Substitute 

"He  went  off,  dusting  'imself  down  with  his 
little  pocket-'ankercher,  and  arter  the  skipper 
'ad  told  me  wot  he'd  like  to  do,  only  he  was  too 
sorry  for  me  to  do  it,  'e  went  back  to  the  ship 
to  put  on  a  clean  collar,  and  went  off  for  the 
evening. 

"He  always  used  to  go  off  by  hisself  of  a 
evening,  and  I  used  to  wonder  'ow  he  passed 
the  time.  Then  one  night  I  found  out. 

"I  had  just  come  out  of  the  Bear's  Head,  and 
stopped  to  look  round  afore  going  back  to  the 
wharf,  when  I  see  a  couple  o'  people  standing 
on  the  swing-bridge  saying  'Good-bye'  to  each 
other.  One  of  'em  was  a  man  and  the  other 
wasn't. 

'  'Evening,  cap'n,'  I  ses,  as  he  came  towards 
me,  and  gave  a  little  start.  'I  didn't  know  you 
'ad  brought  your  missis  up  with  you  this  trip.' 

*  'Evening,    Bill,'    he    ses,    very    peaceful. 
'Wot  a  lovely  evening!' 
"'Bee-utiful  I'Ises. 

'  'So  fresh,'  ses  the  skipper,  sniffing  in  some 
of  the  air. 

'  'Makes  you  feel  quite  young  agin,'  I  ses. 
213 


The  Substitute 

"He  didn't  say  nothing  to  that,  except  to 
look  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  'is  eye;  and 
stepping  on  to  the  wharf  had  another  look  at 
the  sky  to  admire  it,  and  then  went  aboard  his 
ship.  If  he  'ad  only  stood  me  a  pint,  and 
trusted  me,  things  might  ha'  turned  out  dif- 
ferent. 

"Quite  by  chance  I  happened  to  be  in  the 
Bear's  Head  a  week  arterwards,  and,  quite  by 
chance,  as  I  came  out  I  saw  the  skipper  saying 
'Good-bye'  on  the  bridge  agin.  He  seemed  to 
be  put  out  about  something,  and  when  I  said 
'Wot  a  lovely  evening  it  would  be  if  only  it 
wasn't  raining  'ard!'  he  said  something  about 
knocking  my  'ead  off. 

"  'And  you  keep  your  nose  out  o'  my  bisness,' 
he  ses,  very  fierce. 

'Your  bisness!'  I  ses.       'Wot  bisness?' 
'There's  some  people  as  might  like  to  know 
that  you  leave  the  wharf  to  look  arter  itself 
while  you're  sitting  in  a  pub  swilling  gallons 
and  gallons  o'  beer,'  he  ses,  in  a  nasty  sort  o' 
way.     'Live  and  let  live,  that's  my  motter." 
214 


The  Substitute 

"  'I  don't  know  wot  you're  talking  about,'  I 
ses,  'but  it  don't  matter  anyways.  I've  got  a 
clear  conscience;  that's  the  main  thing.  I'm 
as  open  as  the  day,  and  there's  nothing  about 
me  that  I'd  mind  anybody  knowing.  Wot  a 
pity  it  is  everybody  can't  say  the  same!' 

"I  didn't  see  'im  saying  'Good-bye'  the  next 
week  or  the  week  arter  that  either,  but  the  third 
week,  arter  just  calling  in  at  the  Bear's  Head, 
I  strolled  on  casual-like  and  got  as  far  as  the 
bottom  of  Tower  Hill  afore  I  remembered 
myself.  Turning  the  corner,  I  a'most  fell  over 
the  skipper,  wot  was  right  in  the  fair  way,  shak- 
ing 'ands  with  his  lady-friend  under  the  lamp- 
post. Both  of  'em  started,  and  I  couldn't  make 
up  my  mind  which  gave  me  the  most  unpleasant 
look. 

'  'Peep-bo !'  I  ses,  cheer ful-like. 

"He  stood  making  a  gobbling  noise  at  me, 
like  a  turkey. 

'  'Give  me  quite  a  start,  you  did,'  I  ses. 
'I  didn't  dream  of  you  being  there.' 

215 


The  Substitute 

"  'Get  off !'  he  ses,  spluttering.  'Get  off, 
afore  I  tear  you  limb  from  limb !  'Ow  dare 
you  follow  me  about  and  come  spying  round 
corners  at  me  ?  Wot  d'ye  mean  by  it  ?' 

"I  stood  there  with  my  arms  folded  acrost 
my  chest,  as  calm  as  a  cucumber.  The  other 
party  stood  there  watching  us,  and  wot  'e  could 
'ave  seen  in  her,  I  can't  think.  She  was  dressed 
more  like  a  man  than  a  woman,  and  it  would 
have  taken  the  good  looks  of  twenty  like  her  to 
'ave  made  one  barmaid.  I  stood  looking  at 
'er  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

1  'Well,  will  you  know  me  agin?'  she  ses,  in 
a  nasty  cracked  sort  of  voice. 

1  'I  could  pick  you  out  of  a  million,'  I  ses — 
'if  I  wanted  to.' 

''Clear  out!'  ses  the  skipper.  'Clear  out! 
And  thank  your  stars  there's  a  lady  present.' 

'  'Don't  take  no  notice  of  'im,  Captain 
Pratt,'  ses  the  lady.  'He's  beneath  you.  You 
only  encourage  people  like  that  by  taking  notice 
of  'em.  Good-bye.' 

"She  held  out  her  'and,  and  while  the  skipper 
216 


The  Substitute 

was  shaking  it  I  began  to  walk  back  to  the 
wharf.  I  'adn't  gorn  far  afore  I  heard  'im 
coming  up  behind  me,  and  next  moment  'e  was 
walking  alongside  and  saying  things  to  try  and 
make  me  lose  my  temper. 

"  'Ah,  it's  a  pity  your  pore  missis  can't  'ear 
you  !'  I  ses.  'I  expect  she  thinks  you  are  stowed 
away  in  your  bunk  dreaming  of  'er,  instead  of 
saying  things  about  a  face  as  don't  belong  to 
you.' 

"  'You  mind  your  bisness,'  he  ses,  shouting. 
'And  not  so  much  about  my  missis !  D'ye  hear? 
Wot's  it  got  to  do  with  you?  Who  asked  you 
to  shove  your  oar  in  ?' 

"  'You're  quite  mistook,'  I  ses,  very  calm. 
Td  no  idea  that  there  was  anything  on  as 
shouldn't  be.  I  was  never  more  surprised  in 
my  life.  If  anybody  'ad  told  me,  I  shouldn't 
'ave  believed  'em.  I  couldn't.  Knowing  you, 
and  knowing  'ow  respectable  you  'ave  always 
purtended  to  be,  and  also  and  likewise  that  you 
ain't  no  chicken ' 

"I  thought  'e  was  going  to  'ave  a  fit.  He 
217 


The  Substitute 

'opped  about,  waving  his  arms  and  stuttering 
and  going  on  in  such  a  silly  way  that  I  didn't 
like  to  be  seen  with  'im.  Twice  he  knocked 
my  'at  off,  and  arter  telling  him  wot  would 
'appen  if  'e  did  it  agin,  I  walked  off  and  left 
him. 

"Even  then  'e  wasn't  satisfied,  and  arter 
coming  on  to  the  wharf  and  following  me  up 
and  down  like  a  little  dog,  he  got  in  front  of  me 
and  told  me  some  more  things  he  'ad  thought 
of. 

"  'If  I  catch  you  spying  on  me  agin,'  he  ses, 
'you'll  wish  you'd  never  been  born  1' 

"  'You  get  aboard  and  'ave  a  quiet  sleep,' 
I  ses.  'You're  wandering  in  your  mind.' 

"  'The  lady  you  saw  me  with,'  he  ses,  look- 
ing at  me  very  fierce,  'is  a  friend  o'  mine  that  I 
meet  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  her  talk.' 

"  'Talk!'  I  ses,  staring  at  '5m.  'Talk!  Wot, 
can't  one  woman  talk  enough  for  you?  Is 
your  missis  dumb?  or  wot?' 

'You   don't  understand,'   he   ses,   cocking 
up    'is    nose    at   me.      'She's    a    interleckshal 
218 


The  Substitute 

woman;  full  of  eddication  and  information. 
When  my  missis  talks,  she  talks  about  the  price 
o'  things  and  says  she  must  'ave  more  money. 
Or  else  she  talks  about  things  I've  done,  or 
sometimes  things  I  'aven't  done.  It's  all  one 
to  her.  There's  no  pleasure  in  that  sort  o' 
talk.  It  don't  help  a  man.' 

"  'I  never  'card  of  any  talk  as  did,'  I  ses. 

"  'I  don't  suppose  you  did,'  he  ses,  sneering- 
like.  'Now,  to-night,  fust  of  all,  we  talked 
about  the  House  of  Lords  and  whether  it  ought 
to  be  allowed;  and  arter  that  she  gave  me  quite 
a  little  lecture  on  insecks.' 

"  'It  don't  seem  proper  to  me,'  I  ses.  'I 
'ave  spoke  to  my  wife  about  'em  once  or  twice, 
but  I  should  no  more  think  of  talking  about 
such  things  to  a  single  lady ' 

"He  began  to  jump  about  agin  as  if  I'd  bit 
'im,  and  he  'ad  so  much  to  say  about  my  'ed 
and  blocks  of  wood  that  I  pretty  near  lost  my 
temper.  I  should  ha'  lost  it  with  some  men, 
bue  'e  was  a  very  stiff-built  chap  and  as  hard  as 

nails. 

219 


The  Substitute 

"  'Beer's  your  trouble,'  he  ses,  at  last.  'Fust 
of  all  you  put  it  down,  and  then  it  climbs  up  and 
soaks  wot  little  brains  you've  got.  Wot  you 
want  is  a  kind  friend  to  prevent  you  from  get- 
ting it.' 

"I  don't  know  wot  it  was,  but  I  'ad  a  sort  of 
sinking  feeling  inside'  as  'e  spoke,  and  next  eve- 
ning, when  I  saw  'im  walk  to  the  end  of  the 
jetty  with  the  office-boy  and  stand  there  talk- 
ing to  'im  with  his  'and  on  his  shoulder,  it  came 
on  worse  than  ever.  And  I  put  two  and  two 
together  when  the  guv'nor  came  up  to  me  next 
day,  and,  arter  talking  about  'dooty'  and  'ow 
easy  it  was  to  get  night-watchmen,  mentioned 
in  'a  off-'and  sort  of  way  that,  if  I  left  the 
wharf  at  all  between  six  and  six,  I  could  stay 
away  altogether. 

"I  didn't  answer  'im  a  word.  I  might  ha' 
told  'im  that  there  was  plenty  of  people  arter 
me  ready  to  give  me  double  the  money,  but  I 
knew  he  could  never  get  anybody  to  do  their 
dooty  by  the  wharf  like  I  'ad  done,  so  I  kept 
quiet.  It's  the  way  I  treat  my  missis  nowa- 
220 


The  Substitute 

days,  and  It  pays;  in  the  old  days  I  used  to 
waste  my  breath  answering  'er  back. 

"I  wouldn't  ha'  minded  so  much  if  it  'adn't 
ha'  been  for  that  boy.  He  used  to  pass  me,  as 
'e  went  off  of  a  evening,  with  a  little  sly  smile 
on  'is  ugly  little  face,  and  sometimes  when  I  was 
standing  at  the  gate  he'd  give  a  sniff  or  two  and 
say  that  he  could  smell  beer,  and  he  supposed 
it  came  from  the  Bear's  Head. 

"It  was  about  three  weeks  arter  the  guv'nor 
'ad  forgot  'imself,  and  I  was  standing  by  the 
gate  one  evening,  when  I  saw  a  woman  coming 
along  carrying  a  big  bag  in  her  'and.  I  'adn't 
seen  'er  afore,  and  when  she  stopped  in  front 
of  me  and  smiled  I  was  on  my  guard  at  once. 
I  don't  smile  at  other  people,  and  I  don't  expect 
them  to  smile  at  me. 

"  'At  last!'  she  ses,  setting  down  'er  bag  and 
giving  me  another  smile.  'I  thought  I  was 
never  going  to  get  'ere." 

"I  coughed  and  backed  inside  a  little  bit  on 
to  my  own  ground.  I  didn't  want  to  'ave  that 
221 


The  Substitute 

little  beast  of  a  office-boy  spreading  tales-  about 
me. 

"  Tve  come  up  to  'ave  a  little  fling,'  she  ses, 

smiling  away  harder  than  ever.     'My  husband 

don't  know  I'm  'ere.     He  thinks  I'm  at  'ome.' 

"I  think  I  went  back  pretty  near  three  yards. 

u  'I  come  up  by  train,'  she  ses,  nodding. 

'Yes,'  I  ses,  very  severe,  'and  wot  about 
going  back  by  it?' 

"  'Oh,  I  shall  go  back  by  ship/  she  ses.   'Wot 
time  do  you  expect  the  Eastern  Monarch  up?' 
'  'Well,'  I  ses,  'ardly  knowing  wot  to  make 
of  'er,  'she  ought  to  be  up  this  tide;  but  there's 
no  reckoning  on  wot  an  old  washtub  with  a 
engine  like  a  sewing-machine  inside  'er  will  do.' 
'  'Oh,  indeed!'  she  ses,  leaving  off  smiling 
very  sudden.    'Oh,  indeed !    My  husband  might 
'ave  something  to  say  about  that.' 
"'Your'usband?'Jses. 
'  'Captain  Pratt,'   she  ses,  drawing  'erself 
up.    'I'm  Mrs.  Pratt.    He  left  yesterday  morn- 
ing, and  I've  come  up  'ere  by  train  to  give  'im 
a  little  surprise.' 

222 


The  Substitute 

"You  might  ha'  knocked  me  down  with  a 
feather,  and  I  stood  there  staring  at  her  with 
my  mouth  open,  trying  to  think. 

'Take  care,'  I  ses  at  last.     'Take  care  as 
you  don't  give  'im  too  much  of  a  surprise !' 
1  'Wot  do  you  mean?'  she  ses,  firing  up. 

"  'Nothing,'  I  ses.  'Nothing,  only  I've 
known  'usbands  in  my  time  as  didn't  like  being 
surprised — that's  all.  If  you  take  my  advice, 
you'll  go  straight  back  home  agin.' 

'  Til  tell  'im  wot  you  say,'  she  ses,  'as  soon 
as  'is  ship  comes  in.' 

"That's  a  woman  all  over;  the  moment  they 
get  into  a  temper  they  want  to  hurt  somebody; 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once  that,  if  anybody 
was  going  to  be  'urt,  it  wasn't  me.  And,  be- 
sides, I  thought  it  might  be  for  the  skipper's 
good — in  the  long  run. 

"I  broke  it  to  her  as  gentle  as  I  could.  I 
didn't  tell  'er  much,  I  just  gave  her  a  few  'ints. 
Just  enough  to  make  her  ask  for  more. 

'  'And  mind,'   I  ses,   7  don't  want  to    be 
brought  into  it.    If  you  should  'appen  to  take 
223 


The  Substitute 

a  fancy  into  your  'ed  to  wait  behind  a  pile  of 
empties  till  the  ship  comes  in,  and  then  slip  out 
and  foller  your  'usband  and  give  'im  the  little 
surprise  you  spoke  of,  it's  nothing  to  do  with 


me.' 


"  'I  understand,'  she  ses,  biting  her  lip. 
'There's  no  need  for  'im  to  know  that  I've  been 
on  the  wharf  at  all.' 

"I  gave  'er  a  smile — I  thought  she  deserved 
it — but  she  didn't  smile  back.  She  was  rather 
a  nice-looking  woman  in  the  ordinary  way,  but 
I  could  easy  see  'ow  temper  spoils  a  woman's 
looks.  She  stood  there  giving  little  shivers  and 
looking  as  if  she  wanted  to  bite  somebody. 

4  Til  go  and  hide  now,'  she  ses. 

"  'Not  yet,'  I  ses.  'You'll  'ave  to  wait  till 
that  little  blackbeetle  in  the  office  'as  gorn.' 

'  'Blackbeetle?'  she  ses,  staring. 

"  'Office-boy,'  I  ses.  'He'd  better  not  see 
you  at  all.  S'pose  you  go  off  for  a  bit  and  come 
back  when  I  whistle  ?' 

"Afore  she  could  answer  the  boy  came  out  of 
the  office,  ready  to  go  'ome.  He  gave  a  little 
224 


The  Substitute 

bit  of  a  start  when  'e  saw  me  talking  to  a  lady, 
and  then  'e  nips  down  sudden,  about  a  couple 
o'  yards  away,  and  begins  to  do  'is  bootlace  up. 
It  took  'im  some  time,  because  he  'ad  to  undo  it 
fust,  but  'e  finished  it  at  last,  and  arter  a  quick 
look  at  Mrs.  Pratt,  and  one  at  me  that  I  could 
ha'  smacked  his  'ed  for,  'e  went  off  whistling 
and  showing  'is  little  cuffs. 

"I  stepped  out  into  the  road  and  watched  'im 
out  o'  sight.  Then  I  told  Mrs.  Pratt  to  pick 
up  'er  bag  and  foller  me. 

"As  it  'appened  there  was  a  big  pile  of  emp- 
ties in  the  corner  of  the  ware'ouse  wall,  just 
opposite  the  Eastern  Monarch's  berth.  It 
might  ha'  been  made  for  the  job,  and,  arter  I 
'ad  tucked  her  away  behind  and  given  'er  a  box 
to  sit  on,  I  picked  up  my  broom  and  began  to 
make  up  for  lost  time. 

"She  sat  there  as  quiet  as  a  cat  watching  a 
mouse'ole,  and  I  was  going  on  with  my  work, 
stopping  every  now  and  then  to  look  and  see 
whether  the  Monarch  was  in  sight,  when  I 
'appened  to  turn  round  and  see  the  office-boy 
225 


The  Substitute 

standing  on  the  edge  of  the  wharf  with  his  back 
to  the  empties,  looking  down  at  the  water.  I 
nearly  dropped  my  broom. 

"  "Ullo !'  I  ses,  going  up  to  'im.  'I  thought 
you  'ad  gorn  'ome.' 

"  'I  was  going,'  he  ses,  with  a  nasty  oily  little 
smile,  'and  then  it  struck  me  all  of  a  sudden  'ow 
lonely  it  was  for  you  all  alone  'ere,  and  I  come 
back  to  keep  you  company.' 

"He  winked  at  something  acrost  the  river  as 
'e  spoke,  and  I  stood  there  thinking  my  'ardest 
wot  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  I  couldn't 
get  Mrs.  Pratt  away  while  'e  was  there ;  besides 
which  I  felt  quite  sartain  she  wouldn't  go.  The 
only  'ope  I  'ad  was  that  he'd  get  tired  of  spy- 
ing on  me  and  go  away  before  he  found  out  she 
was  'iding  on  the  wharf. 

"I  walked  off  in  a  unconcerned  way — not  too 
far — and,  with  one  eye  on  'im  and  the  other  on 
where  Mrs.  Pratt  was  'iding,  went  on  with  my 
work.  There's  nothing  like  'ard  work  when  a 
man  is  worried,  and  I  was  a'most  forgetting 
226 


The  Substitute 

my  troubles,  when  I  looked  up  and  saw  the 
Monarch  coming  up  the  river. 

"She  turned  to  come  into  'er  berth,  with  the 
skipper  shouting  away  on  the  bridge  and  mak- 
ing as  much  fuss  as  if  'e  was  berthing  a  liner. 
I  helped  to  make  'er  fast,  and  the  skipper,  arter 
'e  had  'ad  a  good  look  round  to  see  wot  'e 
could  find  fault  with,  went  below  to  clean  'im- 
self. 

"He  was  up  agin  in  about  ten  minutes,  with 
a  clean  collar  and  a  clean  face,  and  a  blue  neck- 
tie that  looked  as  though  it  'ad  got  yeller 
measles.  Good  temper  'e  was  in,  too,  and  arter 
pulling  the  office-boy's  ear,  gentle,  as  'e  was 
passing,  he  stopped  for  a  moment  to  'ave  a 
word  with  'im, 

"  'Bit  late,  ain't  you?'  he  ses. 

"  'I've  been  keeping  a  eye  on  the  watchman,' 
ses  the  boy.  'He  works  better  when  'e  knows 
there's  somebody  watching  'im.' 

'  'Look  'ere!'  I  ses.  'You  take  yourself  off; 
I've  had  about  enough  of  you.  You  take  your 
little  face  'ome  and  ask  your  mother  to  wipe  its 
227 


The  Substitute 

nose.    Strickly  speaking,  you've  no  right  to  be 
on  the  wharf  at  all  at  this  time.' 

"  'I've  as  much  right  as  other  people,'  he  ses, 
giving  me  a  wicked  look.  'I've  got  more  right 
than  some  people,  p'r'aps.' 

"He  stooped  down  deliberate  and,  picking  up 
a  bit  o'  coke  from  the  'cap  by  the  crane,  pitched 
it  over  at  the  empties. 

"  'Stop  that!'  I  ses,  shouting  at  'im. 

"  'What  for?'  'e  ses,  shying  another  piece. 
'Why  shouldn't  I?' 

"  "Cos  I  won't  'ave  it,'  I  ses.  'D'ye  hear? 
Stop  it!' 

"I  rushed  at  'im  as  he  sent  another  piece 
over,  and  for  the  next  two  or  three  •minutes  'e 
was  dodging  me  and  chucking  coke  at  the  emp- 
ties, with  the  fool  of  a  skipper  standing  by 
laughing,  and  two  or  three  of  the  crew  leaning 
over  the  side  and  cheering  'im  on. 

'  'All  right,'  he  ses,  at  last,  dusting  'is  hands 
together.  'I've  finished.  There's  no  need  to 
make  such  a  fuss  over  a  bit  of  coke.' 

'You've  wasted  pretty  near  arf  a  'undered- 
228 


The  Substitute 

weight,'  I  ses.  'I've  a  good  mind  to  report 
you.' 

"'Don't  do  that,  watchman!'  he  ses,  in  a 
pitiful  voice.  'Don't  do  that !  'Ere,  I  tell  you 
wot  I'll  do.  I'll  pick  it  all  up  agin.' 

"Afore  I  could  move  'and  or  foot  he  'ad 
shifted  a  couple  o'  cases  out  of  'is  way  and  was 
in  among  the  empties.  I  stood  there  dazed-like 
while  two  bits  o'  coke  came  flying  back  past 
my  'ed;  then  I  'card  a  loud  whistle,  and  'e  came 
out  agin  with  'is  eyes  rolling  and  'is  mouth  wide 
open. 

"  'Wot's  the  matter?'  ses  the  skipper,  staring 
at  'im. 

'  'I — I — I'm  sorry,  watchman,'  ses  that  beast 
of  a  boy,  purtending  'e  was  'ardly  able  to  speak. 
Td  no  idea ' 

"  'All  right,'  I  ses,  very  quick. 

"'Wot's  the  matter?'  ses  the  skipper  agin; 
and  as  'e  spoke  it  came  over  me  like  a  flash 
wot  a  false  persition  I  was  in,  and  wot  a  nasty- 
tempered  man  'e  could  be  when  'e  liked. 

;  'Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you'd  got  a  ladv- 
229 


The  Substitute 

friend  there?'  ses  the  boy,  shaking  his  'ed  at 
me.  'Why,  I  might  'ave  hit  'er  with  a  bit  o' 
coke,  and  never  forgiven  myself!' 

"  'Lady-friend!'  ses  the  skipper,  with  a  start. 
'Oh,  Bill,  I  am  surprised!' 

"My  throat  was  so  dry  I  couldn't  'ardly 
speak.  'It's  my  missis,'  I  ses,  at  last. 

"  'Your  missis?'  ses  the  skipper.  'Wot's  she 
'iding  behind  there  for?' 

'  'She — she's  shy,'  I  ses.  'Always  was,  all 
'er  life.  She  can't  bear  other  people.  She  likes 
to  be  alone  with  me.' 

"  'Oh,  watchman !'  ses  the  boy.  'I  wonder 
where  you  expect  to  go  to  ?' 

"  'Missis  my  grandmother!'  ses  the  skipper, 
with  a  wink.  'I'm  going  to  'ave  a  peep.' 

''Stand  back!'  I  ses,  pushing  'im  off.  'I 
don't  spy  on  you,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  come 
spying  on  me.  You  get  off!  D'ye  hear  me? 
Get  off!' 

"We  had  a  bit  of  a  struggle,  till  my  foot 
slipped,  and  while  I  was  waving  my  arms  and 
trying  to  get  my  balance  back  'e  made  a  dash 
230 


The  Substitute 

for  the  empties.  Next  moment  he  was  roaring 
like  a  mad  bull  that  'ad  sat  down  in  a  sorsepan 
of  boiling  water,  and  rushing  back  agin  to  kill 
me. 

"I  believe  that  if  it  'adn't  ha'  been  for  a 
couple  o'  lightermen  wot  'ad  just  come  on  to 
the  jetty  from  their  skiff,  and  two  of  his  own 
'ands,  he'd  ha'  done  it.  Crazy  with  passion  'e 
was,  and  it  was  all  the  four  of  'em  could  do  to 
hold  'im.  Every  now  and  then  he'd  get  a  yard 
nearer  to  me,  and  then  they'd  pull  'im  back  a 
couple  o'  yards  and  beg  of  'im  to  listen  to  reason 
and  'ear  wot  I  'ad  to  say.  And  as  soon  as  I 
started  and  began  to  tell  'em  about  'is  lady- 
friend  he  broke  out  worse  than  ever.  People 
acrost  the  river  must  ha'  wondered  wot  was 
'appening.  There  was  two  lightermen,  two 
sailormen,  me  and  the  skipper,  and  Mrs.  Pratt 
all  talking  at  once,  and  nobody  listening  but  the 
office-boy.  And  in  the  middle  of  it  all  the  wicket 
was  pushed  open  and  the  'ed  of  the  lady  wot  all 
the  trouble  was  about  peeped  in,  and  drew 
back  agin. 

231 


The  Substitute 

"  'There  you  are !'  I  ses,  shouting  my  'ardest. 
'There  she  is.  That's  the  lady  I  was  telling  you 
about.  Now,  then:  put  'em  face  to  face  and 
clear  my  character.  Don't  let  'er  escape.' 

"One  o'  the  lightermen  let  go  o'  the  skipper 
and  went  arter  'er,  and,  just  as  I  was  giving  the 
other  three  a  helping  'and,  'e  came  back  with 
'er.  Mrs.  Pratt  caught  'er  breath,  and  as  for 
the  skipper,  'e  didn't  know  where  to  look,  as  the 
saying  is.  I  just  saw  the  lady  give  'im  one  quick 
look,  and  then  afore  I  could  dream  of  wot  was 
coming,  she  rushes  up  to  me  and  flings  'er  long, 
bony  arms  round  my  neck. 

"  'Why,  William!'  she  ses,  'wot's  the  matter? 
Why  didn't  you  meet  me?  Didn't  you  get  my 
letter?  Or  'ave  you  ceased  to  care  for  me?" 

"  'Let  go!'  I  ses,  struggling.  'Let  go!  D'ye 
'ear?  Wot  d'ye  mean  by  it?  You've  got  'old 
of  the  wrong  one.' 

"  'Oh,  William!'  she  ses,  arf  strangling  me. 
'  'Ow  can  you  talk  to  me  like  that?  Where's 
your  'art?' 

"I  never  knew  a  woman  so  strong.  I  don't 
232 


The  Substitute 

suppose  she'd  ever  'ad  the  chance  of  getting 
'er  arms  round  a  man's  neck  afore,  and  she  hung 
on  to  me  as  if  she'd  never  let  go.  And  all  the 
time  I  was  trying  to  explain  things  to  them  over 
'er  shoulder  I  could  see  they  didn't  believe  a 
word  I  was  saying.  One  o'  the  lightermen  said 
I  was  a  'wonder,'  and  the  other  said  I  was  a 
'fair  cough-drop.'  Me! 

"She  got  tired  of  it  at  last,  but  by  that  time 
I  was  so  done  up  I  couldn't  say  a  word.  I  just 
dropped  on  to  a  box  and  sat  there  getting  my 
breath  back  while  the  skipper  forgave  'is  wife 
for  'er  unjust  suspicions  of  'im — but  told  'er 
not  to  do  it  agin — and  the  office-boy  was  saying 
I'd  surprised  even  'im.  The  last  I  saw  of  the 
lady-friend,  the  two  lightermen  was  helping  'er 
to  walk  to  the  gate,  and  the  two  sailormen  was 
follering  'er  up  behind,  carrying  'er  pocket- 
'ankercher  and  upberella." 


233 


Striking  Hard 


Striking  Hard 

"\7OU'VE  what?"  demanded  Mrs.  Porter, 

••-  placing  the  hot  iron  carefully  on  its  stand 
and  turning  a  heated  face  on  the  head  of  the 
family. 

"Struck,"  repeated  Mr.  Porter;  "and  the 
only  wonder  to  me  is  we've  stood  it  so  long  as 
we  have.  If  I  was  to  tell  you  all  we've  'ad  to 
put  up  with  I  don't  suppose  you'd  believe  me." 

"Very  likely,"  was  the  reply.  "You  can 
keep  your  fairy-tales  for  them  that  like  'em. 
They're  no  good  to  me." 

"We  stood  it  till  flesh  and  blood  could  stand 
it  no  longer,"  declared  her  husband,  "and  at 
last  we  came  out,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  singing. 
The  people  cheered  us,  and  one  of  our  leaders 
made  'em  a  speech." 

"I  should  have  liked  to  'ave  heard  the  sing- 
ing," remarked  his  wife.  "If  they  all  sang  like 
you,  it  must  ha'  been  as  good  as  a  pantermime ! 
237 


Striking  Hard 

Do  you  remember  the  last  time  you  went  on 
strike?" 

"This  is  different,"  said  Mr.  Porter,  with 
dignity. 

"All  our  things  went,  bit  by  bit,"  pursued  his 
wife,  "all  the  money  we  had  put  by  for  a  rainy 
day,  and  we  'ad  to  begin  all  over  again.  What 
are  we  going  to  live  on?  O'  course,  you  might 
earn  something  by  singing  in  the  street;  people 
who  like  funny  faces  might  give  you  something ! 
Why  not  go  upstairs  and  put  your  'ead  under 
the  bed-clothes  and  practise  a  bit?" 

Mr.  Porter  coughed.  "It'll  be  all  right,"  he 
said,  confidently.  "Our  committee  knows  what 
it's  about;  Bert  Robinson  is  one  of  the  best 
speakers  I've  ever  'card.  If  we  don't  all  get 
five  bob  a  week  more  I'll  eat  my  'ead." 

"It's  the  best  thing  you"  could  do  with  it," 
snapped  his  wife.  She  took  up  her  iron  again, 
and  turning  an  obstinate  back  to  his  remarks 
resumed  her  work. 

Mr.  Porter  lay  long  next  morning,  and,  dress- 
ing with   comfortable   slowness,   noticed  with 
238 


Striking  Hard 

pleasure  that  the  sun  was  shining.  Visions  of 
a  good  breakfast  and  a  digestive  pipe,  followed 
by  a  walk  in  the  fresh  air,  passed  before  his 
eyes  as  he  laced  his  boots.  Whistling  cheerfully 
he  went  briskly  downstairs. 

It  was  an  October  morning,  but  despite  the 
invigorating  chill  in  the  air  the  kitchen-grate 
was  cold  and  dull.  Herring-bones  and  a  dis- 
orderly collection  of  dirty  cups  and  platters 
graced  the  table.  Perplexed  and  angry,  he 
looked  around  for  his  wife,  and  then,  opening 
the  back-door,  stood  gaping  with  astonishment. 
The  wife  of  his  bosom,  who  should  have  had  a 
bright  fire  and  a  good  breakfast  waiting  for 
him,  was  sitting  on  a  box  in  the  sunshine,  elbows 
on  knees  and  puffing  laboriously  at  a  cigarette. 

"Susan!"  he  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Porter  turned,  and,  puffing  out  her  lips, 
blew  an  immense  volume  of  smoke.  "Halloa !" 
she  said,  carelessly. 

"Wot — wot  does  this  mean?"  demanded  her 
husband. 

Mrs.  Porter  smiled  with  conscious  pride.  "I 
239 


Striking  Hard 

made  it  come  out  of  my  nose  just  now,"  she  re- 
plied. "At  least,  some  of  it  did,  and  I  swal- 
lowed the  rest.  Will  it  hurt  me  ?" 

"Where's  my  breakfast?"  inquired  the  other, 
hotly.  "Why  ain't  the  kitchen-fire  alight?  Wot 
do  you  think  you're  doing  of?" 

"I'm  not  doing  anything,"  said  his  wife,  with 
an  aggrieved  air.  "I'm  on  strike." 

Mr.  Porter  reeled  against  the  door-post. 
"Wot!"  he  stammered.  "On  strike?  Non- 
sense !  You  can't  be." 

"O,  yes,  I  can,"  retorted  Mrs.  Porter,  clos- 
ing one  eye  and  ministering  to  it  hastily  with  the 
corner  of  her  apron.  "Not  'aving  no  Bert  Rob- 
inson to  do  it  for  me,  I  made  a  little  speech  all 
to  myself,  and  here  I  am." 

She  dropped  her  apron,  replaced  the  cigar- 
ette, and,  with  her  hands  on  her  plump  knees, 
eyes  him  steadily. 

"But — but  this  ain't  a  factory,"  objected  the 
dismayed  man;  "and,  besides  —  /  won't  'ave 
it!" 

240 


Striking  Hard 

Mrs.  Porter  laughed — a  fat,  comfortable 
laugh,  but  with  a  touch  of  hardness  in  it. 

"All  right,  mate,"  she  said,  comfortably. 
"What  are  you  out  on  strike  for?" 

"Shorter  hours  and  more  money,"  said  Mr. 
Porter,  glaring  at  her. 

His  wife  nodded.  "So  am  I,"  she  said.  "I 
wonder  who  gets  it  first?" 

She  smiled  agreeably  at  the  bewildered  Mr. 
Porter,  and,  extracting  a  paper  packet  of  cigar- 
ettes from  her  pocket,  lit  a  fresh  one  at  the 
stub  of  the  first. 

"That's  the  worst  of  a  woman,"  said  her 
husband,  avoiding  her  eye  and  addressing  a 
sanitary  dustbin  of  severe  aspect;  "they  do 
things  without  thinking  first.  That's  why  men 
are  superior;  before  they  do  a  thing  they  look 
at  it  all  round,  and  upside  down,  and — and — 
make  sure  it  can  be  done.  Now,  you  get  up  in 
a  temper  this  morning,  and  the  first  thing  you 
do — not  even  waiting  to  get  my  breakfast  ready 
first — is  to  go  on  strike.  If  you'd  thought  for 
two  minutes  youM  see  as  'ow  it's  impossible  fcr 
241 


Striking  Hard 

you  to  go  on  strike  for  more  than  a  couple  of 
hours  or  so." 

"Why?"  inquired  Mrs.  Porter. 

"Kids,"  replied  her  husband,  triumphantly. 
"They'll  be  coming  'ome  from  school  soon, 
won't  they?  And  they'll  be  wanting  their  din- 
ner, won't  they?" 

"That's  all  right,"  murmured  the  other, 
vaguely. 

"After  which,  when  night  comes,"  pursued 
Mr.  Porter,  "they'll  'ave  to  be  put  to  bed.  In 
the  morning  they'll  'ave  to  be  got  up  and  washed 
and  dressed  and  given  their  breakfast  and  sent 
off  to  school.  Then  there's  shopping  wot  must 
be  done,  and  beds  wot  must  be  made." 

"I'll  make  ours,"  said  his  wife,  decidedly. 
"For  my  own  sake." 

"And  wot  about  the  others?"  inquired  Mr. 
Porter. 

"The  others'll  be  made  by  the  same  party 
as  washes  the  children,  and  cooks  their  dinner 
for  'em,  and  puts  'em  to  bed,  and  cleans  the 
'ouse,"  was  the  reply. 

242 


Striking  Hard 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  your  mother  'ere," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Porter,  with  sudden  heat. 
"Mind  that!" 

"I  don't  want  her,"  said  Mrs.  Porter.  "It's 
a  job  for  a  strong,  healthy  man,  not  a  pore 
old  thing  with  swelled  legs  and  short  in  the 
breath." 

"Strong — 'ealthy — man!"  repeated  her  hus- 
band, in  a  dazed  voice.  "Strong — 'eal 

Wot  are  you  talking  about?" 

Mrs.  Porter  beamed  on  him.  "You,"  she 
said,  sweetly. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  at  last  by 
a  firework  display  of  expletives.  Mrs.  Porter, 
still  smiling,  sat  unmoved. 

"You  may  smile !"  raved  the  indignant  Mr. 
Porter.  "You  may  sit  there  smiling  and  smok- 
ing like  a — like  a  man,  but  if  you  think  that  I'm 
going  to  get  the  meals  ready,  and  soil  my  'ands 
with  making  beds  and  washing-up,  you're  mis- 
took. There's  some  'usbands  I  know  as  would 
set  about  you!" 

Mrs.  Porter  rose.  "Well,  I  can't  sit  here 
243 


Striking  Hard 

gossiping  with  you  all  day,"  she  said,  entering 
the  house. 

"Wot  are  you  going  to  do?"  demanded  her 
husband,  following  her. 

"Going  to  see  Aunt  Jane  and  'ave  a  bit  o' 
dinner  with  her,"  was  the  reply.  "And  after 
that  I  think  I  shall  go  to  the  'pictures.'  If  you 
'ave  bloaters  for  dinner  be  very  careful  with 
little  Jemmy  and  the  bones." 

"I  forbid  you  to  leave  this  'ouse !"  said  Mr. 
Porter,  in  a  thrilling  voice.  "If  you  do  you 
won't  find  nothing  done  when  you  come  home, 
and  all  the  kids  dirty  and  starving." 

"Cheerio !"  said  Mrs.  Porter. 

Arrayed  in  her  Sunday  best  she  left  the  house 
half  an  hour  later.  A  glance  over  her  shoulder 
revealed  her  husband  huddled  up  in  a  chair  in 
the  dirty  kitchen,  gazing  straight  before  him  at 
the  empty  grate. 

He  made  a  hearty  breakfast  at  a  neighbour- 
ing coffee-shop,  and,  returning  home,  lit  the  fire 
and  sat  before  it,  smoking.  The  return  of  the 
four  children  from  school,  soon  after  midday, 
244 


Striking  Hard 

found  him  still  wrestling  with  the  difficulties  of 
the  situation.  His  announcement  that  their 
mother  was  out  and  that  there  would  be  no  din- 
ner was  received  at  first  in  stupefied  silence. 
Then  Jemmy,  opening  his  mouth  to  its  widest 
extent,  acted  as  conductor  to  an  all-too-willing 
chorus. 

The  noise  was  unbearable,  and  Mr.  Porter 
said  so.  Pleased  with  the  tribute,  the  choir  re- 
doubled its  efforts,  and  Mr.  Porter,  vociferat- 
ing orders  for  silence,  saw  only  too  clearly  the 
base  advantage  his  wife  had  taken  of  his  affec- 
tion for  his  children.  He  took  some  money 
from  his  pocket  and  sent  the  leading  treble  out 
marketing,  after  which,  with  the  assistance  of  a 
soprano  aged  eight,  he  washed  up  the  breakfast 
things  and  placed  one  of  them  in  the  dustbin. 

The  entire  family  stood  at  his  elbow  as  he 
cooked  the  dinner,  and  watched,  with  bated 
breath,  his  frantic  efforts  to  recover  a  sausage 
which  had  fallen  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the 
fire.  A  fourfold  sigh  of  relief  heralded  its 
return  to  the  pan. 

245 


Striking  Hard 

"Mother    always "    began    the    eldest 

boy. 

Mr.  Porter  took  his  scorched  fingers  out  of 
his  mouth  and  smacked  the  critic's  head. 

The  dinner  was  not  a  success.  Portions  of 
half-cooked  sausages  returned  to  the  pan,  and 
coming  back  in  the  guise  of  cinders  failed  to  find 
their  rightful  owners. 

"Last  time  we  had  sausages,"  said  the  eight- 
year-old  Muriel,  "they  melted  in  your  mouth." 

Mr.  Porter  glowered  at  her. 

"Instead  of  in  the  fire,"  said  the  eldest  boy, 
with  a  mournful  snigger. 

"If  I  get  up  to  you,  my  lad,"  said  the  har- 
assed Mr.  Porter,  "you'll  know  it!  Pity  you 
don't  keep  your  sharpness  for  your  lessons! 
Wot  country  is  Africa  in?" 

"Why,  Africa's  a  continent!"  said  the 
startled  youth. 

"Jes  so,"  said  his  father;  "but  wot  I'm 
asking  you  is:  wot  country  is  it  in?" 

"Asia,"  said  the  reckless  one,  with  a  side- 
glance  at  Muriel. 

246 


Striking  Hard 

"And  why  couldn't  you  say  so  before?"  de- 
manded Mr.  Porter,  sternly.  "Now,  you  go  to 
the  sink  and  give  yourself  a  thorough  good 
wash.  And  mind  you  come  straight  home  from 
school.  There's  work  to  be  done." 

He  did  some  of  it  himself  after  the  children 
had  gone,  and  finished  up  the  afternoon  with  a 
little  shopping,  in  the  course  of  which  he  twice 
changed  his  grocer  and  was  threatened  with  an 
action  for  slander  by  his  fishmonger.  He  re- 
turned home  with  his  clothes  bulging,  although 
a  couple  of  eggs  in  the  left-hand  coat-pocket 
had  done  their  best  to  accommodate  themselves 
to  his  figure. 

He  went  to  bed  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  at  a 
quarter  past,  clad  all  too  lightly  for  the  job, 
sped  rapidly  downstairs  to  admit  his  wife. 

"Some  'usbands  would  'ave  let  you  sleep  on 
the  doorstep  all  night,"  he  said,  crisply. 

"I   know   they  would,"    returned  his   wife, 

cheerfully.      "That's  why  I   married  you.     I 

remember  the  first  time  I  let  you  come  'ome 

with  me,   mother   ses:   'There   ain't  much  of 

247 


Striking  Hard 

'im,  Susan,'  she  ses;  'still,  arf  a  loaf  is  better 
than '  " 

The  bedroom-door  slammed  behind  the  in- 
dignant Mr.  Porter,  and  the  three  lumps  and  a 
depression  which  had  once  been  a  bed  received 
his  quivering  frame  again.  With  the  sheet  ob- 
stinately drawn  over  his  head  he  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  his  wife's  panegyrics  on  striking  and  her 
heartfelt  tribute  to  the  end  of  a  perfect  day. 
Even  when  standing  on  the  cold  floor  while  she 
remade  the  bed  he  maintained  an  attitude  of 
unbending  dignity,  only  relaxing  when  she  smote 
him  light-heartedly  with  the  bolster.  In  a  few 
ill-chosen  words  he  expressed  his  opinion  of  her 
mother  and  her  deplorable  methods  of  bringing 
up  her  daughters. 

He  rose  early  next  morning,  and,  after  get- 
ting his  own  breakfast,  put  on  his  cap  and  went 
out,  closing  the  street-door  with  a  bang  that 
awoke  the  entire  family  and  caused  the  somno- 
lent Mrs.  Porter  to  open  one  eye  for  the  pur- 
pose of  winking  with  it.  Slowly,  as  became  a 
man  of  leisure,  he  strolled  down  to  the  works, 
248 


Striking  Hard 

and,  moving  from  knot  to  knot  of  his  colleagues, 
discussed  the  prospects  of  victory.  Later  on, 
with  a  little  natural  diffidence,  he  drew  Mr.  Bert 
Robinson  apart  and  asked  his  advice  upon  a 
situation  which  was  growing  more  and  more 
difficult. 

"I've  got  my  hands  pretty  full  as  it  is,  you 
know,"  said  Mr.  Robinson,  hastily. 

"I  know  you  'ave,  Bert,"  murmured  the 
other.  "But,  you  see,  she  told  me  last  night 
she's  going  to  try  and  get  some  of  the  other 
chaps'  wives  to  join  'er,  so  I  thought  I  ought  to 
tell  you." 

Mr.  Robinson  started.  "Have  you  tried 
giving  her  a  hiding?"  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Porter  shook  his  head.  "I  daren't  trust 
myself,"  he  replied.  "I  might  go  too  far,  once 
I  started." 

"What  about  appealing  to  her  better  na- 
ture?" inquired  the  other. 

"She  ain't  got  one,"  said  the  unfortunate. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Robin- 
son, "but  I'm  busy.  I've  got  to  see  a  Labour- 
249 


Striking  Hard 

leader  this  afternoon,  and  two  reporters,  and 
this  evening  there's  the  meeting.  Try  kind- 
ness first,  and  if  that  don't  do,  lock  her  up 
in  her  bedroom  and  keep  her  on  bread  and 
water." 

He  moved  off  to  confer  with  his  supporters, 
and  Mr.  Porter,  after  wandering  aimlessly 
about  for  an  hour  or  two,  returned  home  at  mid- 
day with  a  faint  hope  that  his  wife  might  have 
seen  the  error  of  her  ways  and  provided  dinner 
for  him.  He  found  the  house  empty  and  the 
beds  unmade.  The  remains  of  breakfast  stood 
on  the  kitchen-table,  and  a  puddle  of  cold  tea 
decorated  the  floor.  The  arrival  of  the  chil- 
dren from  school,  hungry  and  eager,  completed 
his  discomfiture. 

For  several  days  he  wrestled  grimly  with  the 
situation,  while  Mrs.  Porter,  who  had  planned 
out  her  week  into  four  days  of  charing,  two  of 
amusement,  and  Sunday  in  bed,  looked  on  with 
smiling  approval.  She  even  offered  to  give  him 
a  little  instruction — verbal — in  scrubbing  the 
kitchen-floor. 

250 


Striking  Hard 

Mr.  Porter,  who  was  on  his  knees  at  the 
time,  rose  slowly  to  his  full  height,  and,  with  a 
superb  gesture,  emptied  the  bucket,  which  also 
contained  a  scrubbing-brush  and  lump  of  soap, 
into  the  back-yard.  Then  he  set  off  down  the 
street  in  quest  of  a  staff. 

He  found  it  in  the  person  of  Maudie  Stevens, 
aged  fourteen,  who  lived  a  few  doors  lower 
down.  Fresh  from  school  the  week  before,  she 
cheerfully  undertook  to  do  the  housework  and 
cooking,  and  to  act  as  nursemaid  in  her  spare 
time.  Her  father,  on  his  part,  cheerfully  under- 
took to  take  care  of  her  wages  for  her,  the  first 
week's,  payable  in  advance,  being  banked  the 
same  evening  at  the  Lord  Nelson. 

It  was  another  mouth  to  feed,  but  the  strike- 
pay  was  coming  in  very  well,  and  Mr.  Porter, 
relieved  from  his  unmanly  tasks,  walked  the 
streets  a  free  man.  Beds  were  made  without  his 
interference,  meals  were  ready  (roughly)  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  for  the  first  time  since  the 
strike  he  experienced  satisfaction  in  finding  fault 
with  the  cook.  The  children's  content  was  not 
251 


Striking  Hard 

so  great,  Maudie  possessing  a  faith  in  the  vir- 
tues of  soap  and  water  that  they  made  no  at- 
tempt to  share.  They  were  greatly  relieved 
when  their  mother  returned  home  after  spend- 
ing a  couple  of  days  with  Aunt  Jane. 

"What's  all  this?"  she  demanded,  as  she  en- 
tered the  kitchen,  followed  by  a  lady-friend. 

"What's  all  what?"  inquired  Mr.  Porter, 
who  was  sitting  at  dinner  with  the  family. 

"That,"  said  his  wife,  pointing  at  the  cook- 
general. 

Mr.  Porter  put  down  his  knife  and  fork.  "I 
got  'er  in  to  help,"  he  replied,  uneasily. 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  demanded  his  wife, 
turning  to  her  friend,  Mrs.  Gorman.  "Oh, 
these  masters !" 

"Ah !"  said  her  friend,  vaguely. 

"A  strike-breaker!"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  roll- 
ing her  eyes. 

"Shame !"  said  Mrs.  Gorman,  beginning  to 
understand. 

"Coming  after  my  job,  and  taking  the  bread 
out  of  my  mouth,"  continued  Mrs.  Porter,  flu- 
252 


Striking  Hard 

ently.  "Underselling  me  too,  I'll  be  bound. 
That's  what  comes  of  not  having  pickets." 

"Unskilled  labour,"  said  Mrs.  Gorman, 
tightening  her  lips  and  shaking  her  head. 

"A  scab!"  cried  Mrs.  Porter,  wildly.  "A 
scab!" 

"Put  her  out,"  counselled  her  friend. 

"Put  her  out!"  repeated  Mrs.  Porter,  in  a 
terrible  voice.  "Put  her  out!  I'll  tear  her 
limb  from  limb !  I'll  put  her  in  the  copper  and 
boil  her!" 

Her  voice  was  so  loud  and  her  appearance  so 
alarming  that  the  unfortunate  Maudie,  emitting 
three  piercing  shrieks,  rose  hastily  from  the 
table  and  looked  around  for  a  way  of  escape. 
The  road  to  the  front-door  was  barred,  and 
with  a  final  yelp  that  set  her  employer's  teeth  on 
edge  she  dashed  into  the  yard  and  went  home 
via  the  back-fences.  Housewives  busy  in  their 
kitchens  looked  up  in  amazement  at  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  pair  of  thin  black  legs  descending  one 
fence,  scudding  across  the  yard  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  terrified  moaning,  and  scrambling 
253 


Striking  Hard 

madly  over  the  other.  At  her  own  back-door 
Maudie  collapsed  on  the  step,  and,  to  the  in- 
tense discomfort  and  annoyance  of  her  father, 
had  her  first  fit  of  hysterics. 

"And  the  next  scab  that  comes  into  my  house 
won't  get  off  so  easy,"  said  Mrs.  Porter  to  her 
husband.  "D'you  understand?" 

"If  you  'ad  some  husbands "  began  Mr. 

Porter,  trembling  with  rage. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  his  wife,  nodding. 
"Don't  cry,  Jemmy,"  she  added,  taking  the 
youngest  on  her  knee.  "Mother's  only  having 
a  little  game.  She  and  dad  are  both  on  strike 
for  more  pay  and  less  work." 

Mr.  Porter  got  up,  and  without  going 
through  the  formality  of  saying  good-bye  to  the 
hard-featured  Mrs.  Gorman,  put  on  his  cap  and 
went  out.  Over  a  couple  of  half-pints  taken  as 
a  sedative,  he  realized  the  growing  seriousness 
of  his  position. 

In  a  dull  resigned  fashion  he  took  up  his 
household  duties  again,  made  harder  now  than 
before  by  the  scandalous  gossip  of  the  ag- 
254 


Striking  Hard 

grieved  Mr.  Stevens.  The  anonymous  present 
of  a  much-worn  apron  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  his  discomfiture ;  and  the  well-meant  offer  of 
a  fair  neighbour  to  teach  him  how  to  shake  a 
mat  without  choking  himself  met  with  a  recep- 
tion that  took  her  breath  away. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  him  one  afternoon  to  find 
that  his  wife  had  so  far  unbent  as  to  tidy  up  the 
parlour.  Ornaments  had  been  dusted  and  pol- 
ished and  the  carpet  swept.  She  had  even  al- 
tered the  position  of  the  furniture.  The  table 
had  been  pushed  against  the  wall,  and  the  easy- 
chair,  with  its  back  to  the  window,  stood  stiffly 
confronting  six  or  seven  assorted  chairs,  two  of 
which  at  least  had  been  promoted  from  a  lower 
sphere. 

"It's  for  the  meeting,"  said  Muriel,  peep- 
ing in. 

"Meeting?"  repeated  her  father,  in  a  dazed 
voice. 

"Strike-meetings,"    was    the    reply.      "Mrs. 
Gorman  and  some  other  ladies  are  coming  at 
four  o'clock.    Didn't  mother  tell  you  ?" 
255 


Striking  Hard 

Mr.  Porter,  staring  helplessly  at  the  row  of 
chairs,  shook  his  head. 

"Mrs.  Evans  is  coming,"  continued  Muriel, 
in  a  hushed  voice — "the  lady  what  punched  Mr. 
Brown  because  he  kept  Bobbie  Evans  in  one 
day.  He  ain't  been  kept  in  since.  I  wish 
you " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and,  held  by  her 
father's  gaze,  backed  slowly  out  of  the  room. 
Mr.  Porter,  left  with  the  chairs,  stood  regard- 
ing them  thoughtfully.  Their  emptiness  made 
an  appeal  that  no  right-minded  man  could 
ignore.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth  and 
his  eyes  watered. 

He  spent  the  next  half-hour  in  issuing  invita- 
tions, and  at  half-past  three  every  chair  was 
filled  by  fellow-strikers.  Three  cans  of  beer, 
clay  pipes,  and  a  paper  of  shag  stood  on  the 
table.  Mr.  Benjamin  Todd,  an  obese,  fresh- 
coloured  gentleman  of  middle  age,  took  the 
easy-chair.  Glasses  and  teacups  were  filled. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Todd,  lighting  his 
pipe,  "afore  we  get  on  to  the  business  of  this 
256 


Striking  Hard 

meeting  I  want  to  remind  you  that  there  is  an- 
other meeting,  of  ladies,  at  four  o'clock;  so 
we've  got  to  hurry  up.  O'  course,  if  it  should 
happen  that  we  ain't  finished " 

"Go  on,  Bennie!"  said  a  delighted  admirer. 

"I  see  a  female  'ead  peeping  in  at  the  winder 
already,"  said  a  voice. 

"Let  'em  peep,"  said  Mr.  Todd,  benignly. 
"Then  p'r'aps  they'll  be  able  to  see  how  to  run 
a  meeting." 

"There's  two  more  ;eads,"  said  the  other. 
"Oh,  Lord,  I  know  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  keep  a 
straight  face!" 

"H'sh!"  commanded  Mr.  Todd,  sternly,  as 
the  street-door  was  heard  to  open.  "Be'ave 
yourself.  As  I  was  saying,  the  thing  we've  got 
to  consider  about  this  strike " 

The  door  opened,  and  six  ladies,  headed  by 
Mrs.  Porter,  entered  the  room  in  single  file  and 
ranged  themselves  silently  along  the  wall. 

"Strike,"  proceeded  Mr.  Todd,  who  found 
himself  gazing  uneasily  into  the  eyes  of  Mrs. 

Gorman — -"strike — er — strike " 

257 


Striking  Hard 

"He  said  that  before,"  said  a  stout  lady,  in 
a  loud  whisper;  "I'm  sure  he  did." 

"Is,"  continued  Mr.  Todd,  "that  we  have 
got  to  keep  this — this — er " 

"Strike,"  prompted  the  same  voice. 

Mr.  Todd  paused,  and,  wiping  his  mouth 
with  a  red  pocket-haridkerchief,  sat  staring 
straight  before  him. 

"I  move,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  her  sharp  fea- 
tures twitching  with  excitement,  "that  Mrs. 
Gorman  takes  the  chair." 

"  'Ow  can  I  take  it  when  he's  sitting  in  it?" 
demanded  that  lady. 

"She's  a  lady  that  knows  what  she  wants  and 
how  to  get  it,"  pursued  Mrs.  Evans,  unheeding. 
"She  understands-  men " 

"I've  buried  two  'usbands,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Gorman,  nodding. 

"And  how  to  manage  them,"  continued  Mrs. 
Evans.  "I  move  that  Mrs.  Gorman  takes  the 
chair.  Those  in  favour " 

Mr.  Todd,  leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  grip- 
258 


Striking  Hard 

ping  the  arms,  gazed  defiantly  at  a  row  of 
palms. 

"Carried  unanimously!"  snapped  Mrs. 
Evans. 

Mrs.  Gorman,  tall  and  bony,  advanced  and 
stood  over  Mr.  Todd.  Strong  men  held  their 
breath. 

"It's  my  chair,"  she  said,  gruffly.  "I've  been 
moved  into  it." 

"Possession,"  said  Mr.  Todd,  in  as  firm  a 
voice  as  he  could  manage,  "is  nine  points  of  the 
law.  I'm  here  and " 

Mrs.  Gorman  turned,  and,  without  the  slight- 
est warning,  sat  down  suddenly  and  heavily  in 
his  lap.  A  hum.  of  admiration  greeted  the 
achievement. 

"Get  up !"  shouted  the  horrified  Mr.  Todd. 
"Get  up!" 

Mrs.  Gorman  settled  herself  more  firmly. 

"Let  me  get  up,"  said  Mr.  Todd,  panting. 

Mrs.  Gorman  rose,  but  remained  in  a  hover- 
ing position,  between  which  and  the  chair  Mr. 
Todd,  flushed  and  dishevelled,  extricated  him- 
259 


Striking  Hard 

self  in  all  haste.  A  shrill  titter  of  laughter  and 
a  clapping  of  hands  greeted  his  appearance. 
He  turned  furiously  on  the  pallid  Mr.  Porter. 

"What  d'you  mean  by  it?"  he  demanded. 
"Are  you  the  master,  or  ain't  you?  A  man 
what  can't  keep  order  in  his  own  house  ain't  fit 
to  be  called  a  man.  If  my  wife  was  carrying  on 
like  this " 

"I  wish  I  was  your  wife,"  said  Mrs.  Gorman, 
moistening  her  lips. 

Mr.  Todd  turned  slowly  and  surveyed  her. 

"I  don't,"  he  said,  simply,  and,  being  by  this 
time  near  the  door,  faded  gently  from  the  room. 

"Order!"  cried  Mrs.  Gorman,  thumping  the 
arm  of  her  chair  with  a  large,  hard-working  fist. 
"Take  your  seats,  ladies." 

A  strange  thrill  passed  through  the  bodies  of 
her  companions  and  communicated  itself  to  the 
men  in  the  chairs.  There  was  a  moment's  tense 
pause,  and  then  the  end  man,  muttering  some- 
thing about  "going  to  see  what  had  happened 
to  poor  old  Ben  Todd,"  rose  slowly  and  went 
out.  His  companions,  with  heads  erect  and  a 
260 


Striking  Hard 

look  of  cold  disdain  upon  their  faces,  followed 
him. 

It  was  Mr.  Porter's  last  meeting,  but  his  wife 
had  several  more.  They  lasted,  in  fact,  until 
the  day,  a  fortnight  later,  when  he  came  in  with 
flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes  to  announce  that 
the  strike  was  over  and  the  men  victorious. 

"Six  bob  a  week  more  I"  he  said,  with  enthu- 
siasm. "You  see,  I  was  right  to  strike,  after 
all." 

Mrs.  Porter  eyed  him.  "I  am  out  for  four 
bob  a  week  more,"  she  said,  calmly. 

Her  husband  swallowed.  "You — you  don't 
understand  'ow  these  things  are  done,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "It  takes  time.  We  ought  to  ne-ne- 
gotiate." 

"All  right,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  readily. 
"Seven  shillings  a  week,  then." 

"Let's  say  four  and  have  done  with  it,"  ex* 
claimed  the  other,  hastily. 

And  Mrs.  Porter  said  it. 


261 


Dirty  Work 


IT  was  nearly  high-water,  and  the  night- 
watchman,  who  had  stepped  aboard  a 
lighter  lying  alongside  the  wharf  to  smoke  a 
pipe,  sat  with  half-closed  eyes  enjoying  the 
summer  evening.  The  bustle  of  the  day  was 
over,  the  wharves  were  deserted,  and  hardly  a 
craft  moved  on  the  river.  Perfumed  clouds  of 
shag,  hovering  for  a  time  over  the  lighter, 
floated  lazily  towards  the  Surrey  shore. 

"There's  one  thing  about  my  job,"  said  the 
night-watchman,  slowly,  "it's  done  all  alone  by 
yourself.  There's  no  foreman  a-hollering  at 
you  and  offering  you  a  penny  for  your  thoughts, 
and  no  mates  to  run  into  you  from  behind  with 
a  loaded  truck  and  then  ask  you  why  you  didn't 
look  where  you're  going  to.  From  six  o'clock 
in  the  evening  to  six  o'clock  next  morning  I'm 
my  own  master." 

265 


Dirty  Work 

He  rammed  down  the  tobacco  with  an  ex- 
perienced forefinger  and  puffed  contentedly. 

People  like  you  'ud  find  it  lonely  (he  contin- 
ued, after  a  pause) ;  I  did  at  fust.  I  used  to 
let  people  come  and  sit  'ere  with  me  of  an  even- 
ing talking,  but  I  got  tired  of  it  arter  a  time, 
and  when  one  chap  fell  overboard  while  'e  was 
showing  me  'ow  he  put  his  wife's  mother  in  'er 
place,  I  gave  it  up  altogether.  There  was  three 
foot  o'  mud  in  the  dock  at  the  time,  and  arter 
I  'ad  got  'im  out,  he  fainted  in  my  arms. 

Arter  that  I  kept  myself  to  myself.  Say  wot 
you  like,  a  man's  best  friend  is  'imself.  There's 
nobody  else'll  do  as  much  for  'im,  or  let  'im  off 
easier  when  he  makes  a  mistake.  If  I  felt  a  bit 
lonely  I  used  to  open  the  wicket  in  the  gate  and 
sit  there  watching  the  road,  arid  p'r'aps  pass  a 
word  or  two  with  the  policeman.  Then  some- 
thing 'appened  one  night  that  made  me  take 
quite  a  dislike  to  it  for  a  time. 

I  was  sitting  there  with  my  feet  outside,  smok- 
ing a  quiet  pipe,  when  I  'card  a  bit  of  a  noise  in 
the  distance.  Then  I  'card  people  running  and 
266 


Dirty  Work 

shouts  of  "Stop,  thief!"  A  man  came  along 
round  the  corner  full  pelt,  and,  just  as  I  got  up, 
dashed  through  the  wicket  and  ran  on  to  the 
wharf.  I  was  arter  'im  like  a  shot  and  got  up 
to  'im  just  in  time  to  see  him  throw  something 
into  the  dock.  And  at  the  same  moment  I  'card 
the  other  people  run  past  the  gate. 

"Wot's  up  ?"  I  ses,  collaring  'im. 

"Nothing,"  he  ses,  breathing  'ard  and  strug- 
gling. "Let  me  go." 

He  was  a  little  wisp  of  a  man,  and  I  shook 
'im  like  a  dog  shakes  a  rat.  I  remembered  my 
own  pocket  being  picked,  and  I  nearly  shook  the 
breath  out  of  'im. 

"And  now  I'm  going  to  give  you  in  charge," 
I  ses,  pushing  'im  along  towards  the  gate. 

"Wot  for?"  he  ses,  purtending  to  be  sur- 
prised. 

"Stealing,"  I  ses. 

"You've  made  a  mistake,"  he  ses;  "you  can 
search  me  if  you  like." 

"More  use  to  search  the  dock,"  I  ses.  "I  see 
you  throw  it  in.  Now  you  keep  quiet,  else 
267 


Dirty  Work 

you'll  get  'urt.    If  you  get  five  years  I  shall  be 

all  the  more  pleased." 

I  don't  know  'ow  he  did  it,  but  'e  did.  He 
seemed  to  sink  away  between  my  legs,  and  afore 
I  knew  wot  was  'appening,  I  was  standing  up- 
side down  with  all  the  blood  rushing  to  my  'ead. 
As  I  rolled  over  he  bolted  through  the  wicket, 
and  was  off  like  a  flash  of  lightning. 

A  couple  o'  minutes  arterwards  the  people 
wot  I  'ad  'card  run  past  came  back  agin.  There 
was  a  big  fat  policeman  with  'em — a  man  I'd 
seen  afore  on  the  beat — and,  when  they  'ad 
gorn  on,  he  stopped  to  'ave  a  word  with  me. 

"  'Ot  work,"  he  ses,  taking  off  his  'elmet  and 
wiping  his  bald  'ead  with  a  large  red  handker- 
chief. "I've  lost  all  my  puff." 

"Been  running?"  I  ses,  very  perlite. 

"Arter  a  pickpocket,"  he  ses.  "He  snatched 
a  lady's  purse  just  as  she  was  stepping  aboard 
the  French  boat  with  her  'usband.  'Twelve 
pounds  in  it  in  gold,  two  peppermint  lozenges, 
and  a  postage  stamp.' ' 

268 


Dirty 

He  shook  his  'ead,  and  put  his  'elmet  on 
agin. 

"Holding  it  in  her  little  'and  as  usual,"  he 
ses.  "Asking  for  trouble,  I  call  it.  I  believe 
if  a  woman  'ad  one  hand  off  and  only  a  finger 
and  thumb  left  on  the  other,  she'd  carry  'er 
purse  in  it." 

He  knew  a'most  as  much  about  wimmen  as 
I  do.  When  'is  fust  wife  died,  she  said  'er  only 
wish  was  that  she  could  take  'im  with  her,  and 
she  made  'im  promise  her  faithful  that  Vti 
never  marry  agin.  His  second  wife,  arter  a 
long  illness,  passed  away  while  he  was  playing 
hymns  on  the  concertina  to  her,  and  'er  mother, 
arter  looking  at  'er  veiy  hard,  went  to  the  doc- 
tor and  said  she  wanted  an  inquest. 

He  went  on  talking  for  a  long  time,  but  I  was 
busy  doing  a  bit  of  'ead-work  and  didn't  pay 
much  attention  to  'im.  I  was  thinking  o'  twelve 
pounds,  two  lozenges,  and  a  postage  stamp  lay- 
ing in  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  my  dock,  and 
arter  a  time  'e  said  'e  see  as  'ow  I  was  waiting 
269 


Dirty  Work 

to  get  back  to  my  night's  rest,  and  went  off — 
stamping. 

I  locked  the  wicket  when  he  'ad  gorn  away, 
and  then  I  went  to  the  edge  of  the  dock  and 
stood  looking  down  at  the  spot  where  the  purse 
'ad  been  chucked  in.  The  tide  was  on  the  ebb, 
but  there  was  still  a  foot  or  two  of  water  atop 
of  the  mud.  I  walked  up  and  down,  thinking. 

I  thought  for  a  long  time,  and  then  I  made 
up  my  mind.  If  I  got  the  purse  and  took  it  to 
the  police-station,  the  police  would  share  the 
money  out  between  'em,  and  tell  me  they  'ad 
given  it  back  to  the  lady.  If  I  found  it  and  put 
a  notice  in  the  newspaper — which  would  cost 
money — very  likely  a  dozen  or  two  ladies  would 
come  and  see  me  and  say  it  was  theirs.  Then 
if  I  gave  it  to  the  best-looking  one  and  the  one 
it  belonged  to  turned  up,  there'd  be  trouble. 
My  idea  was  to  keep  it — for  a  time — and  then 
if  the  lady  who  lost  it  came  to  me  and  asked 
me  for  it  I  would  give  it  to  'er. 

Once  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  do  wot  was 
right  I  felt  quite  'appy,  and  arter  a  look  up  and 
270 


Dirty  Work 

down,  I  stepped  round  to  the  Bear's  Head  and 
'ad  a  couple  o'  goes  o'  rum  to  keep  the  cold  out. 
There  was  nobody  in  there  but  the  landlord, 
and  'e  started  at  once  talking  about  the  thief, 
and  'ow  he  'ad  run  arter  him  in  'is  shirt- 
sleeves. 

"My  opinion  is,"  he  ses,  "that  'e  bolted  on 
one  of  the  wharves  and  'id  'imself.  He  disap- 
peared like  magic.  Was  that  little  gate  o' 
yours  open?" 

"I  was  on  the  wharf,"  I  ses,  very  cold. 

"You  might  ha'  been  on  the  wharf  and  yet 
not  'ave  seen  anybody  come  on,"  he  ses,  nod- 
ding. 

"Wot  d'ye  mean?"  I  ses,  very  sharp. 

"Nothing,"  he  ses.     "Nothing." 

"Are  you  trying  to  take  my  character  away?" 
I  ses,  fixing  'im  with  my  eye. 

"Lo'  bless  me,  no !"  he  ses,  staring  at  me. 
"It's  no  good  to  me." 

He  sat  down  in  'is  chair  behind  the  bar  and 
went  straight  off  to  sleep  with  his  eyes  screwed 
up  as  tight  as  they  would  go.  Then  'e  opened 
271 


Dirty  Work 

his  mouth  and  snored  till  the  glasses  shook.  I 
suppose  I've  been  one  of  the'best  customers  he 
ever  'ad,  and  that's  the  way  he  treated  me.  For 
two  pins  I'd  ha'  knocked  'is  ugly  'ead  off,  but 
arter  waking  him  up  very  sudden  by  dropping 
my  glass  on  the  floor  I  went  off  back  to  the 
wharf. 

I  locked  up  agin,  and  'ad  another  look  at  the 
dock..  The  water  'ad  nearly  gone  and  the  mud 
,was  showing  in  patches.  My  mind  went  back 
to  a  sailorman  wot  had  dropped  'is  watch  over- 
board two  years  before,  and  found  it  by  walk- 
ing about  in  the  dock  in  'is  bare  feet.  He 
found  it  more  easy  because  the  glass  broke  when 
he  trod  on  it. 

The  evening  was  a  trifle  chilly  for  June,  but 
I've  been  used  to  roughing  it  all  my  life,  espe- 
cially when  I  was  afloat,  and  I  went  into  the 
office  and  began  to  take  my  clothes  off.  I  took 
off  everything  but  my  pants,  and  I  made  sure  o' 
them  by  making  braces  for  'em  out  of  a  bit  of 
string.  Then  I  turned  the  gas  low,  and,  arter 
slipping  on  my  boots,  went  outside. 
272 


Dirty  Work 

It  was  so  cold  that  at  fust  I  thought  I'd  give 
up  the  idea.  The  longer  I  stood  on  the  edge 
looking  at  the  mud  the  colder  it  looked,  but  at 
last  I  turned  round  and  went  slowly  down  the 
ladder.  I  waited  a  moment  at  the  bottom,  and 
was  just  going  to  step  off  when  I  remembered 
that  I  'ad  got  my  boots  on,  and  I  'ad  to  go  up 
agin  and  take  'em  off. 

I  went  down  very  slow  the  next  time,  and 
anybody  who  'as  been  down  an  iron  ladder  with 
thin,  cold  rungs,  in  their  bare  feet,  will  know 
why,  and  I  had  just  dipped  my  kft  foot  in,  when 
the  wharf-bell  rang. 

I  'oped  at  fust  that  it  was  a  runaway-ring,  but 
it  kept  on,  and  the  longer  it  kept  on,  the  worse 
it  got.  I  went  up  that  ladder  agin  and  called  out 
that  I  was  coming,  and  then  I  went  into  the 
office  and  just  slipped  on  my  coat  and  trousers 
and  went  to  the  gate. 

"Wot  d'you  want?"  I  ses,  opening  the  wicket 
three  or  four  inches  and  looking  out  at  a  man 
wot  was  standing  there. 

"Are  you  old  Bill?"  he  ses. 
273 


Dirty  Work 

"I'm  the  watchman,"  I  ses,  sharp-like.  "Wot 
d'you  want?" 

"Don't  bite  me !"  he  ses,  purtending  to  draw 
back.  "I  ain't  done  no  'arm.  I've  come  round 
about  that  glass  you  smashed  at  the  Bear's 
Head." 

"Glass !"  I  ses,  'ardly  able  to  speak. 

"Yes,  glass,"  he  ses — "thing  wot  yer  drink 
out  of.  The  landlord  says  it'll  cost  you  a  tan- 
ner, and  'e  wants  it  now  in  case  you  pass  away 
in  your  sleep.  He  couldn't  come  'imself  cos 
he's  got  nobody  to  mind  the  bar,  so  'e  sent  me. 
Why!  Halloa!  Where's  your  boots?  Ain't 
you  afraid  o'  ketching  cold?" 

"You  clear  off,"  I  ses,  shouting  at  him. 
"D'ye  'ear  me?  Clear  off  while  you're  safe, 
and  you  tell  the  landlord  that  next  time  'e  insults 
me  I'll  smash  every  glass  in  'is  place  and  then 
sit  'im  on  top  of  'em!  Tell  'im  if  'e  wants  a 
tanner  out  o'  me,  to  come  round  'imself,  and 
see  wot  he  gets." 

It  was  a  silly  thing  to  say,  and  I  saw  it  arter- 
wards,  but  I  was  in  such  a  temper  I  'ardly  knew 
274 


Dirty  Work 

wot  I  was  saying.  I  slammed  the  wicket  in  'is 
face  and  turned  the  key  and  then  I  took  off  my 
clothes  and  went  down  that  ladder  agin. 

It  seemed  colder  than  ever,  and  the  mud  when 
I  got  fairly  into  it  was  worse  than  I  thought  it 
could  ha'  been.  It  stuck  to  me  like  glue,  and 
every  step  I  took  seemed  colder  than  the  one 
before.  'Owever,  when  I  make  up  my  mind  to 
do  a  thing,  I  do  it.  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  the 
place  where  I  thought  the  purse  was,  and  every 
time  I  felt  anything  under  my  foot  I  reached 
down  and  picked  it  up — and  then  chucked  it 
away  as  far  as  I  could  so  as  not  to  pick  it  up 
agin.  Dirty  job  it  was,  too,  and  in  five  minutes 
I  was  mud  up  to  the  neck,  a'most.  And  I  'ad 
just  got  to  wot  I  thought  was  the  right  place, 
and  feeling  about  very  careful,  when  the  bell 
rang  agin. 

I  thought  I  should  ha'  gorn  out  o'  my  mind. 
It  was  just  a  little  tinkle  at  first,  then  another 
tinkle,  but,  as  I  stood  there  all  in  the  dark  and 
cold  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  to  take  no  no- 
tice of  it,  it  began  to  ring  like  mad.  I  'ad  to 
275 


Dirty  Work 

go — I've  known  men  climb  over  the  gate  afore 
now — and  I  didn't  want  to  be  caught  in  that 
dock. 

The  mud  seemed  stickier  than  ever,  but  I  got 
out  at  last,  and,  arter  scraping  some  of  it  off 
with  a  bit  o'  stick,  I  put  on  my  coat  and  trousers 
and  boots  just  as  I  was  and  went  to  the  gate, 
with  the  bell  going  its  'ardest  all  the  time. 

When  I  opened  the  gate  and  see  the  landlord 
of  the  Bear's  Head  standing  there  I  turned 
quite  dizzy,  and  there  was  a  noise  in  my  ears 
like  the  roaring  of  the  sea.  I  should  think  I 
stood  there  for  a  couple  o'  minutes  without 
being  able  to  say  a  word.  I  could  think  of  'em. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Bill,"  ses  the  landlord. 
"I'm  not  going  to  eat  you." 

"He  looks  as  if  he's  walking  in  'is  sleep,"  ses 
the  fat  policeman,  wot  was  standing  near  by. 
"Don't  startle  'im." 

"He  always  looks  like  that,"  ses  the  land- 
lord. 

I  stood  looking  at  'im.  I  could  speak  then, 
but  I  couldn't  think  of  any  words  good  enough; 
276 


Dirty  Work 

not  with  a  policeman  standing  by  with  a  note- 
book in  'is  pocket. 

"Wot  was  you  ringing  my  bell  for?"  I  ses, 
at  last. 

"Why  didn't  you  answer  it  before?"  ses  the 
landlord.  "DTyou  think  I've  got  nothing  better 
to  do  than  to  stand  ringing  your  bell  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour?  Some  people  would  re- 
port you." 

"I  know  my  dooty,"  I  ses;  "there's  no  craft 
up  to-night,  and  no  reason  for  anybody  to  come 
to  my  bell.  If  I  was  to  open  the  gate  every 
time  a  parcel  of  overgrown  boys  rang  my  bell  I 
should  'ave  enough  to  do." 

"Well,  I'll  overlook  it  this  time,  seeing  as 
you're  an  old  man  and  couldn't  get  another 
sleeping-in  job,"  he  ses,  looking  at  the  police- 
man for  him  to  see  'ow  clever  'e  was.  "Wot* 
about  that  tanner?  That's  wot  I've  come  for." 

"You  be  off,"  I  ses,  starting  to  shut  the 
wicket.  "You  won't  get  no  tanner  out  of  me." 

"All  right,"  he  ses,  "I  shall  stand  here  and 
go  on  ringing  the  bell  till  you  pay  up,  that's  all." 
277. 


Dirty  Work 

He  gave  it  another  tug,  and  the  policeman 
instead  of  locking  'im  up  for  it  stood  there 
laughing. 

I  gave  'im  the  tanner.  It  was  no  use  stand- 
ing there  arguing  over  a  tanner,  with  a  purse  of 
twelve  quid  waiting  for  me  in  the  dock,  but  I 
told  'im  wot  people  thought  of  'im. 

"Arf  a  second,  watchman,"  ses  the  police- 
man, as  I  started  to  shut  the  wicket  agin.  "You 
didn't  see  anything  of  that  pickpocket,  did 
you.?" 

"I  did  not,"  I  ses. 

'  'Cos  this  gentleman  thought  he  might  'ave 
come  in  here,"  ses  the  policeman. 

'  'Ow  could  he  'ave  come  in  here  without  me 
knowing  it?"  I  ses,  firing  up. 

"Easy,"  ses  the  landlord,  "and  stole  your 
boots  into  the  bargain" 

"He  might  'ave  come  when  your  back  was 
turned,"  ses  the  policeman,  "and  if  so,  he  might 
be  'iding  there  now.  I  wonder  whether  you'd 
mind  me  having  a  look  round?" 

"I  tell  you  he  ain't  'ere/'  I  ses,  very  short, 
278 


Dirty  Work 

"but,  to  ease  your  mind,  I'll  'ave  a  look  round 
myself  arter  you've  gorn." 

The  policeman  shook  his  'ead.  "Well,  o' 
course,  I  can't  come  in  without  your  permis- 
sion," he  ses,  with  a  little  cough,  "but  I  'ave  an 
idea,  that  if  it  was  your  guv'nor  'ere  instead  of 
you  he'd  ha'  been  on'y  too  pleased  to  do  any- 
thing 'e  could  to  help  the  law.  I'll  beg  his 
pardon  tomorrow  for  asking  you,  in  case  he 
might  object." 

That  settled  it.  That's  the  police  all  over, 
and  that's  'ow  they  get  their  way  and  do  as  they 
like.  I  could  see  'im  in  my  mind's  eye  talking  to 
the  guv'nor,  and  letting  out  little  things  about 
broken  glasses  and  such-like  by  accident.  I 
drew  back  to  let  'im  pass,  and  I  was  so  upset 
that  when  that  little  rat  of  a  landlord  follered 
'im  I  didn't  say  a  word. 

I  stood  and  watched  them  poking  and  prying 
about  the  wharf  as  if  it  belonged  to  'em,  with 
the  light  from  the  policeman's  lantern  flashing 
about  all  over  the  place.  I  was  shivering  with 
cold  and  temper.  The  mud  was  drying  on  me, 
279 


Dirty  Work 

and  I  couldn't  'elp  noticing  the  smell  of  it. 
Nobody  could.  And  wot  was  worse  than  all 
was,  that  the  tide  'ad  turned  and  was  creeping 
over  the  mud  in  the  dock. 

They  got  tired  of  it  at  last  and  came  back 
to  where  I  was  and  stood  there  shaking  their 
'eads  at  me. 

"If  he  was  on  the  wharf  'e  must  'ave  made 
his  escape  while  you  was  in  the  Bear's  Head," 
ses  the  policeman. 

"He  was  in  my  place  a  long  time,"  ses  the 
landlord. 

"Well,  it's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk," 
ses  the  policeman.  "Funny  smell  about  'ere, 
ain't  there?"  he  ses,  sniffing,  and  turning  to  the 
landlord.  "Wot  is  it?" 

"I  dunno,"  ses  the  landlord.  "I  noticed  it 
while  we  was  talking  to  'im  at  the  gate.  It 
seems  to  foller  'im  about." 

"I've  smelt  things  I  like  better,"  ses  the 
policeman,  sniffing  agin.  "It's  just  like  the 
foreshore  when  somebody  'as  been  stirring  the 
mud  up  a  bit." 

280 


Dirty  Work 

"If  you've  finished  'unting  for  the  pickpocket 
I'll  let  you  out  and  get  on  with  my  work,"  I  ses, 
drawing  myself  up. 

"Good  night,"  ses  the  policeman,  moving  off. 

"Good  night,  dear,"  ses  the  landlord. 
"Mind  you  tuck  yourself  up  warm." 

I  lost  my  temper  for  the  moment  and  afore 
I  knew  wot  I  was  doing  I  'ad  got  hold  of  him 
and  was  shoving  'im  towards  the  gate  as  'ard 
as  I  could  shove.  He  pretty  near  got  my  coat 
off  in  the  struggle,  and  next  moment  the  police- 
man 'ad  turned  his  lantern  on  me  and  they  was 
both  staring  at  me  as  if  they  couldn't  believe 
their  eyesight. 

"He — he's  turning  black!"  ses  the  landlord. 

"He's  turned  black!"  ses  the  policeman. 

They  both  stood  there  looking  at  me  with 
their  mouths  open,  and  then  afore  I  knew  wot 
he  was  up  to,  the  policeman  came  close  up  to 
me  and  scratched  my  chest  with  his  finger-nail. 

"It's  mud!"  he  ses. 

"You  keep  your  nails  to  yourself,"   I  ses. 
"It's  nothing  to  do  with  you." 
281 


Dirty  Work 

"Unless  it's  a  case  of  'tempted  suicide,"  he 
ses,  looking  at  me  very  'ard. 

"Ah!"  ses  the  landlord. 

"There's  no  mud  on  'is  clothes,"  ses  the  po- 
liceman, looking  me  over  with  his  lantern  agin. 

"He  must  'ave  gone  in  naked,  but  I  should 
like  to  see  'is  legs  to  make — All  right!  All 
right!  Keep  your  'air  on." 

"You  look  arter  your  own  legs,  then,"  I  ses, 
very  sharp,  "and  mind  your  own  business." 

"It  is  my  business,"  he  ses,  turning  to  the 
landlord.  "Was  'e  strange  in  his  manner  at 
all  when  'e  was  in  your  place  to-night?" 

"He  smashed  one  o'  my  best  glasses,"  ses  the 
landlord. 

"So  he  did,"  ses  the  policeman.  "So  he  did. 
I'd  forgot  that.  Do  you  know  'im  well?" 

"Not  more  than  I  can  'elp,"  ses  the  landlord. 
"He's  been  in  my  place  a  good  bit,  but  I  never 
knew  of  any  reason  why  'e  should  try  and  do 
away  with  'imself.  If  he's  been  disappointed 
in  love,  he  ain't  told  me  anything  about  it." 

I  suppose  that  couple  o'  fools  'ud  'ave  stood 
282 


Dirty  Work 

there  talking  about  me  all  night  if  I'd  ha'  let 
'em,  but  I  had  about  enough  of  it. 

"Look  'ere,"  I  ses,  "you're  very  clever,  both 
of  you,  but  you  needn't  worry  your  'eads  about 
me.  I've  just  been  having  a  mud-bath,  that's 
all." 

"A  mud-bath!"  ses  both  of  'em,  squeaking 
like  a  couple  o'  silly  parrots. 

"For  rheumatics,"  I  ses.  "I  'ad  it  some- 
thing cruel  to-night,  and  I  thought  that  p'r'aps 
the  mud  'ud  do  it  good.  I  read  about  it  in  the 
papers.  There's  places  where  you  pay  pounds 
and  pounds  for  'em,  but,  being  a  pore  man,  I 
'ad  to  'ave  mine  on  the  cheap." 

The  policeman  stood  there  looking  at  me  for 
a  moment,  and  then  'e  began  to  laugh  till  he 
couldn't  stop  'imself. 

"Love-a-duck!"  he  ses,  at  last,  wiping  his 
eyes.  "I  wish  I'd  seen  it." 

"Must  ha'  looked  like  a  fat  mermaid,"  ses 
the  landlord,  wagging  his  silly  'ead  at  me.     "I 
can  just  see  old  Bill  sitting  in  the  mud  a-comb- 
ing  his  'air  and  singing." 
283 


Dirty  Work 

They  'ad  some  more  talk  o'  that  sort,  just 
to  show  each  other  'ow  funny  they  was,  but  they 
went  off  at  last,  and  I  fastened  up  the  gate  and 
went  info  the  office  to  clean  myself  up  as  well 
as  I  could.  One  comfort  was  they  'adn't  got 
the  least  idea  of  wot  I  was  arter,  and  I  'ad  a 
fancy  that  the  one  as  laughed  last  would  be  the 
one  as  got  that  twelve  quid. 

I  was  so  tired  that  I  slept  nearly  all  day  arter 
I  'ad  got  'ome,  and  I  'ad  no  sooner  got  back  to 
the  wharf  in  the  evening  than  I  see  that  the 
landlord  'ad  been  busy.  If  there  was  one  silly 
fool  that  asked  me  the  best  way  of  making  mud- 
pies,  I  should  think  there  was  fifty.  Little 
things  please  little  minds,  and  the  silly  way 
some  of  'em  went  on  made  me  feel  sorry  for  my 
sects. 

By  eight  o'clock,  'owever,  they  'ad  all  sheered 
off,  and  I  got  a  broom  and  began  to  sweep  up 
to  'elp  pass  the  time  away  until  low-water. 
On'y  one  craft  'ad  come  up  that  day — a  ketch 
called  the  Peewit — and  as  she  was  berthed  at 
the  end  of  the  jetty  she  wasn't  in  my  way  at  all. 
284 


Dirty  Work 

Her  skipper  came  on  to  the  wharf  just  afore 
ten.  Fat,  silly  old  man  'e  was,  named  Fogg. 
Always  talking  about  'is  'ealth  and  taking  medi- 
cine to  do  it  good.  He  came  up  to  me  slow 
like,  and,  when  'e  stopped  and  asked  me  about 
the  rheumatics,  the  broom  shook  in  my  'and. 

"Look  here,"  I  ses,  "if  you  want  to  be  funny, 
go  and  be  funny  with  them  as  likes  it.  I'm  fair 
sick  of  it,  so  I  give  you  warning." 

"Funny?"  he  ses,  staring  at  me  with  eyes  like 
a  cow.  "Wot  d'ye  mean?  There's  nothing 
funny  about  rheumatics;  I  ought  to  know;  I'm 
a  martyr  to  it.  Did  you  find  as  'ow  the  mud 
did  you  any  good?" 

I  looked  at  'im — hard,  but  'e  stood  there 
looking  at  me  with  his  fat  baby-face,  and  I  knew 
he  didn't  mean  any  harm;  so  I  answered  'im 
perlite  and  wished  'im  good  night. 

"I've  'ad  pretty  near  everything  a  man  can 
have,"  he  ses,  casting  anchor  on  a  empty  box, 
"but  I  think  the  rheumatics  was  about  the  worst 
of  'em  all.  I  even  tried  bees  for  it  once." 

"Bees  !"Ises.    "Bees/" 
285 


Dirty  Work 

"Bee-stings,"  he  ses.  "A  man  told  me  that 
if  I  could  on'y  persuade  a  few  bees  to  sting  me, 
that  'ud  cure  me.  I  don't  know  what  'e  meant 
by  persuading!  they  didn't  want  no  persuading. 
I  took  off  my  coat  and  shirt  and  went  and 
rocked  one  of  my  neighbour's  bee-hives  next 
door,  and  I  thought  my  last  hour  'ad  come." 

He  sat  on  that  box  and  shivered  at  the  mem- 
ory of  it. 

"Now  I  take  Dr.  Pepper's  pellets  instead," 
he  ses.  "I've  got  a  box  in  my  state-room,  and 
if  you'd  like  to  try  'em  you're  welcome." 

He  sat  there  talking  about  the  complaints  he 
had  'ad  and  wot  he  'ad  done  for  them  till  I 
thought  I  should  never  have  got  rid  of  'im. 
He  got  up  at  last,  though,  and,  arter  telling  me 
to  always  wear  flannel  next  to  my  skin,  climbed 
aboard  and  went  below. 

I  knew  the  hands  was  aboard,   and  arter 

.watching  'is  cabin-skylight  until  the  light  was 

out,  I  went  and  undressed.     Then  I  crept  back 

on  to  the  jetty,  and  arter  listening  by  the  Peewit 

286 


Dirty  Work 

to  make  sure  that  they  was  all  asleep,  I  went 
back  and  climbed  down  the  ladder. 

It  was  colder  than  ever.  The  cold  seemed 
to  get  into  my  bones,  but  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  'ave  that  twelve  quid  if  I  died  for  it.  I  trod 
round  and  round  the  place  where  I  'ad  seen  that 
purse  chucked  in  until  I  was  tired,  and  the  rub- 
bish I  picked  up  by  mistake  you  wouldn't 
believe. 

I  suppose  I  'ad  been  in  there  arf  an  hour,  and 
I  was  standing  up  with  my  teeth  clenched  to 
keep  them  from  chattering,  when  I  'appened  to 
look  round  and  see  something  like  a  white  ball 
coming  down  the  ladder.  My  'art  seemed  to 
stand  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  it  began  to 
beat  as  though  it  would  burst.  The  white 
thing  came  down  lower  and  lower,  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  it  stood  in  the  mud  and  said, 
"Ow/" 

"Who  is  it?"  I  ses.     "Who  are  you?" 

"Halloa,  Bill!"  it  ses.  "Ain't  it  perishing 
cold?" 

It  was  the  voice  o'  Cap'n  Fogg,  and  if  ever 
287 


Dirty  Work 

I  wanted  to  kill  a  fellow-creetur,  I  wanted  to 
then. 

"  'Ave  you  been  in  long,  Bill?"  he  ses. 

"About  ten  minutes,"  I  ses,  grinding  my 
teeth. 

"Is  it  doing  you  good?"  he  ses. 

I  didn't  answer  'im. 

"I  was  just  going  off  to  sleep,"  he  ses,  "when 
I  felt  a  sort  of  hot  pain  in  my  left  knee.  O' 
course,  I  knew  what  it  meant  at  once,  and  in- 
stead o'  taking  some  of  the  pellets  I  thought  I'd 
try  your  remedy  instead.  It's  a  bit  nippy,  but 
I  don't  mind  that  if  it  does  me  good." 

He  laughed  a  silly  sort  o'  laugh,  and  then  I'm 
blest  if  'e  didn't  sit  down  in  that  mud  and  waller 
in  it.  Then  he'd  get  up  and  come  for'ard  two 
or  three  steps  and  sit  down  agin. 

"Ain't  you  sitting  down,  Bill?"  he  ses,  arter 
a  time. 

"No,"  I  ses,  "I'm  not." 

"I  don't  think  you  can  expect  to  get  the  full 
benefit  unless  you  do,"  he  ses,  coming  up  close 
288 


Dirty  Work 

to  me  and  sitting  down  agin.     "It's  a  bit  of  a 
shock  at  fust,  but Halloa !" 

"Wot'sup?"  I  ses. 

"Sitting  on  something  hard,"  he  ses.  "I 
wish  people  'ud  be  more  careful." 

He  took  a  list  to  port  and  felt  under  the  star- 
board side.  Then  he  brought  his  'and  up  and 
tried  to  wipe  the  mud  off  and  see  wot  he  'ad 
got. 

"Wot  is  it?"  I  ses,  with  a  nasty  sinking  sort 
o'  feeling  inside  me. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  ses,  going  on  wiping. 
"It's  soft  outside  and  'ard  inside.  It " 

"Let's  'ave  a  look  at  it,"  I  ses,  holding  out 
my  'and. 

"It's  nothing,"  he  ses,  in  a  queer  voice,  get- 
ting up  and  steering  for  the  ladder.  "Bit  of 
oyster-shell,  I  think." 

He  was  up  that  ladder  hand  over  fist,  with 
me  close  behind  'im,  and  as  soon  as  he  'ad  got 
on  to  the  wharf  started  to  run  to  'is  ship. 

"Good  night,  Bill,"  he  ses,  over  'is  shoulder. 

"Arf  a  moment."  I  ses,  follering  'im. 
289 


Dirty  Work 

"I  must  get  aboard,"  he  ses;  "I  believe  I've 
got  a  chill,"  and  afore  I  could  stop  'im  he  'ad 
jumped  on  and  run  down  to  'is  cabin. 

I  stood  on  the  jetty  for  a  minute  or  two, 
trembling  all  over  with  cold  and  temper.  Then 
I  saw  he  'ad  got  a  light  in  'is  cabin,  and  I  crept 
aboard  and  peeped  down  the  skylight.  And 
I  just  'ad  time  to  see  some  sovereigns  on  the 
table,  when  he  looked  up  and  blew  out  the 
light. 


290 


rte*S  **tt*tt**** 

%^5^ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  124  341     9 


